'Gateline 1995
Exactly 10 years ago today, I woke up very early in the morning and headed off to the big, scary world of college.
Okay, so it was 2800 students in a town of 2500 other people, so it was not a big world, but it was a scary one for someone who'd never lived away from home, not even for summer camp, and who'd not gone to school with boys for four years.
Anyone who knows me knows that I'm tight with my family; as the baby of the family, my milestones were -- and are -- met with an extra measure of emotion, because I'm the last, and they all remember when I was five and wore feety pajamas and my littlest sister is going to college. So the night before I left for school, my sister Kathy stayed at our parents' house (which I thought was lovely; she went to college when I was not quite seven, and it was devastating. I cried and cried and cried and cried, and our oldest sister tried to distract me with a game of Trivial Pursuit, but when she picked the blue pie piece, I cried even harder, because Kathy's bedroom was blue. Boy was I a wussy kid. I also used to hide Kathy's keys and/or purse when she was home on break from college so she couldn't leave again. Boy was I a bratty wussy kid).
Anyway, Mom and Dad and I were ready to roll at about 4 in the morning, and Kathy and another sister, who lived at home, got up with us, and walked me to the car. We hugged and cried and we looked up at this beautiful, clear sky where the stars were still all twinkling brightly, and we spotted Orion and promised that when we missed each other or got lonely, we'd remember (a la An American Tale) that we'd all be looking up at the same sky every night. So melodramatic; it makes me cringe.
We stopped for breakfast at a diner about 30 minutes south of Colgate; the participants in some Miss Teen New York State were also there, wearing their sashes and tiaras. The restaurant closed sometime before I graduated, and I never went back.
I was the last of four roommates to arrive -- two had gone up a few days early to work on the newspaper, and my other roommate had arrived that morning with no hangers but lots of baggage. When I got there, she was sitting on the bed while her mom unpacked her stuff; she kept telling her mom she was doing everything wrong, and at one point told her to shut up, which would've gotten me knocked to next Wednesday, but her mom seemed unfazed. This roommate moved out within the month, blessedly.
I was christened Banana Girl, which fortunately didn't last long, but which was still kind of humiliating. My mom had asked one of my friends who worked at a supermarket what the sturdiest boxes were, because the liquor store had started charging for them, and he told us banana boxes were best, and brought me a whole boatload of them to pack my college stuff in, and they held up beautifully, but obviously invited a good deal of mockery.
My parents refused to cry when they left, which they did quickly. I didn't cry, either, and they kept us busy with barbecues and socials and ID cards and all kinds of orientation stuff, but I still felt lonely and out of place and uncertain.
The roommates who'd been there a few days had already made friends, and were going to a party in another dorm. I declined, maybe because I wasn't feeling social, who knows, but found people in my own dorm to hang out with and play cards with or something. I did okay. The party in the other dorm got busted by Campus Safety, and my roommates had to go to an alcohol counseling session and do reports on the perils of drinking, so I was glad I'd skipped it, especially because I was still 17, and couldn't they call my parents about that sort of thing if I were a minor? (I know, I know...big wussy first-year college student and, let's face it, still wussy 10 years later).
That first day felt like one of the longest of my life, with a whole bundle of emotions that I don't know that I've ever experienced in such a complicated way in such a condensed period of time.
People told me that college would be the best time of my life, and I believed them, and I think that was a mistake. In Avenue Q (which you should see, if you haven't, because it's fabulous, and once you see it, you must get the soundtrack), there's a song called "I Wish I Could Go Back to College" -- I've never felt that way, actually. I wasn't really cut out for the kind of college experience I had. I thought about transferring in my junior year, but I realized that (a) it was kind of too late, especially since I was studying abroad, so I needed to suck up the final three semesters and (b) the lack of fit was probably not about Colgate, specifically, but with campus life in general, and better just to get it over with.
I think it all sort of boils down to me being a little bit of an old soul, and a little bit of a misfit, and a little bit of a misanthrope. There are moments of college that I loved, loved, loved, and my experiences there shaped me in ways that I'm still realizing now. But the best time of my life? Not so much, thank goodness.
Okay, so it was 2800 students in a town of 2500 other people, so it was not a big world, but it was a scary one for someone who'd never lived away from home, not even for summer camp, and who'd not gone to school with boys for four years.
Anyone who knows me knows that I'm tight with my family; as the baby of the family, my milestones were -- and are -- met with an extra measure of emotion, because I'm the last, and they all remember when I was five and wore feety pajamas and my littlest sister is going to college. So the night before I left for school, my sister Kathy stayed at our parents' house (which I thought was lovely; she went to college when I was not quite seven, and it was devastating. I cried and cried and cried and cried, and our oldest sister tried to distract me with a game of Trivial Pursuit, but when she picked the blue pie piece, I cried even harder, because Kathy's bedroom was blue. Boy was I a wussy kid. I also used to hide Kathy's keys and/or purse when she was home on break from college so she couldn't leave again. Boy was I a bratty wussy kid).
Anyway, Mom and Dad and I were ready to roll at about 4 in the morning, and Kathy and another sister, who lived at home, got up with us, and walked me to the car. We hugged and cried and we looked up at this beautiful, clear sky where the stars were still all twinkling brightly, and we spotted Orion and promised that when we missed each other or got lonely, we'd remember (a la An American Tale) that we'd all be looking up at the same sky every night. So melodramatic; it makes me cringe.
We stopped for breakfast at a diner about 30 minutes south of Colgate; the participants in some Miss Teen New York State were also there, wearing their sashes and tiaras. The restaurant closed sometime before I graduated, and I never went back.
I was the last of four roommates to arrive -- two had gone up a few days early to work on the newspaper, and my other roommate had arrived that morning with no hangers but lots of baggage. When I got there, she was sitting on the bed while her mom unpacked her stuff; she kept telling her mom she was doing everything wrong, and at one point told her to shut up, which would've gotten me knocked to next Wednesday, but her mom seemed unfazed. This roommate moved out within the month, blessedly.
I was christened Banana Girl, which fortunately didn't last long, but which was still kind of humiliating. My mom had asked one of my friends who worked at a supermarket what the sturdiest boxes were, because the liquor store had started charging for them, and he told us banana boxes were best, and brought me a whole boatload of them to pack my college stuff in, and they held up beautifully, but obviously invited a good deal of mockery.
My parents refused to cry when they left, which they did quickly. I didn't cry, either, and they kept us busy with barbecues and socials and ID cards and all kinds of orientation stuff, but I still felt lonely and out of place and uncertain.
The roommates who'd been there a few days had already made friends, and were going to a party in another dorm. I declined, maybe because I wasn't feeling social, who knows, but found people in my own dorm to hang out with and play cards with or something. I did okay. The party in the other dorm got busted by Campus Safety, and my roommates had to go to an alcohol counseling session and do reports on the perils of drinking, so I was glad I'd skipped it, especially because I was still 17, and couldn't they call my parents about that sort of thing if I were a minor? (I know, I know...big wussy first-year college student and, let's face it, still wussy 10 years later).
That first day felt like one of the longest of my life, with a whole bundle of emotions that I don't know that I've ever experienced in such a complicated way in such a condensed period of time.
People told me that college would be the best time of my life, and I believed them, and I think that was a mistake. In Avenue Q (which you should see, if you haven't, because it's fabulous, and once you see it, you must get the soundtrack), there's a song called "I Wish I Could Go Back to College" -- I've never felt that way, actually. I wasn't really cut out for the kind of college experience I had. I thought about transferring in my junior year, but I realized that (a) it was kind of too late, especially since I was studying abroad, so I needed to suck up the final three semesters and (b) the lack of fit was probably not about Colgate, specifically, but with campus life in general, and better just to get it over with.
I think it all sort of boils down to me being a little bit of an old soul, and a little bit of a misfit, and a little bit of a misanthrope. There are moments of college that I loved, loved, loved, and my experiences there shaped me in ways that I'm still realizing now. But the best time of my life? Not so much, thank goodness.
2 Comments:
The Smelmooo is writing this post from home... as his wife has hidden his keys... he can't go anywhere... it's sad...
By
Smelmooo, at 9:26 AM
I got a little sniffly reading this one.
It is not hard at all to picture the you of ten years ago.
By
Anonymous, at 6:14 PM
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