Why do my excellent school and college mean so little to me?

How do you feel about the academic institutions which helped you become the no doubt hugely successful person you are today? 

Have you ever given your school or college money without expecting some sort of return? Do you go back regularly? Run an Old Boys committee? Attend reunion dinners for your year? Experience a warm glow when you hear them mentioned? Open the parcel containing your college magazine with a sense of excitement? (I’m not sneering, believe me – I am genuinely interested.)

I have revisited my old school several times, but only to give careers advice (to the pupils – not the teachers, who seem to be pretty handsomely remunerated these days). This was insurance, in case we wanted to send our son there (we didn’t). When he was safely ensconced elsewhere, I stopped attending these events – I thoroughly enjoyed talking to the boys, but utterly loathed the dinner and drinks which preceded the business end of the evening (I’d usually end up smoking behind the bogs, in order to avoid small talk).

I have revisited Cambridge precisely four times in 35 years. First to pick up my unearned MA, second to show off to my future wife, third to go to an informal reunion dinner organized by a close friend, and finally to show my son what an ancient university looks and feels like. 

I can’t see any reason for repeating the experience. 

Re-reading some of Newbolt’s poetry recently, I was struck afresh by his love of academic institutions. His poems are shot through with references to his school (Clifton College) and university (Corpus Christi, Oxford). He speaks of both with a passionate,  almost religious,  fervour. 

Why don’t I feel like that? Is there something wrong with me? Does it make me a borderline sociopath?

I have received occasional phone calls and endless letters from my college over the years asking for money. I always tell them that (a) they can have some money but only if it will guarantee automatic entry for my son when he’s old enough to go to university (if, of course, he fancies going there) and (b) I’m confused as to why a large, rich institution would tap a middle class individual of moderate means for a hand-out. (The undergraduates who are forced to make the calls are invariably charming, so I never give them a hard time – a don might receive a dustier reception.)

But at least the college has an excuse for bringing out the begging bowl: the fees they’re allowed to charge are severely capped, and they’re trying to maintain their status as one of the best universities in the world. But I’ve had similar approaches from my old school – and given that it’s one of the best in the country, it can charge what it damn well pleases. I just don’t see why I should be expected to break open the piggy-bank - after all, they know I’m not a banker, property developer, city lawyer or a  BA cabin crew member. 

Now, don’t get me wrong: I’m one of those sad people who really enjoyed school. I was bright, my fellow-pupils were, on the whole, excellent chaps, and I had several close friends (several of whom still are). The teaching standards were impressive, and I had the wonderful experience of a truly inspirational teacher, who made a huge difference to my life. Even better, I lived close enough not to have to eat school lunch! 

College wasn’t quite as enjoyable, and, despite another compelling teacher, I squandered many opportunities – but, again, I had plenty of friends, and it was an extraordinarily beautiful and mind-expanding place.

But when I think of my school or college, although I can certainly detect some affection there, it’s no more than you’d feel for people you rubbed shoulders with for a long time but were never particularly close to. These institutions were, in effect, acquaintances rather than friends, and I walked away from both without a backward glance. 

At an informal reunion of school chums two years’ ago, an old friend told me I was an “unclubbable” man, and that struck me as fair. I am a chronic, life-long non-joiner of clubs, societies and institutions. I hate attending large formal gatherings (if the reunion at which our conversation took place had been organized by a body, rather than an individual, I wouldn’t have been there). I love seeing my old friends - these are living, meaningful relationships. But the thought of revisiting institutions or organisations from my past brings me out in a cold sweat.  

Am I weird?