This Year's Kids

As I sit in here in the main campus library, herds of young'uns are moving through the building, being lead by my former co-workers on tours of the facility. Their faces shiny with hope and oil, their parents proud and nervous. It's nice how the world goes on.

Sometimes I'm surprised by the lack of nostalgia I feel walking through the campus. I never think, this is the spot where I that guy forced me to tell him why I didn't want to go out with him, this is where I was drunk off my ass, this is where I thought I first heard gun shots. I had a desparate conversation with my professor in that building. There's the Wawa where Qui and I used to go to buy Mint Milanos and Marlboro Lights. Instead, I just walk from my office to the pharmacy or the bank or whatever, because now the campus is just the place where I work.

My first days here as a freshman were miserable. I knew no one. My roommate was some petite, neat clubbing kid from Brooklyn who'd attended some snooty Manhattan day school on a scholarship and had no interest in spending time with a large, Midwestern geek. The only thing we had in common was that we were black. When I visited the campus before, I looked around and said to myself, "I am not like these people, but I should be." What was I thinking? Why did I come to this place where no one was like me and few were like anyone I'd hung out with in high school? At a mixer, I watched in disbelief as I saw people my age wearing tight clothes and forming conga lines. Why were so many girls dressed like tacky versions of the Heathers? What kind of young people formed conga lines of their own free will? I didn't understand.

Before dropping me off at the university, my parents wanted the family to spend some time in Massachusetts. While in MA, I visited my childhood friend who was just starting at Wellesley--so small, so green, so friendly (so intense, but I only heard about that later). That's what college should be like, I thought. Forget the options of a large university. I seriously considered transfering to Macalester even though it did not offer a communications major. But I did not transfer. I stayed, made dear friends, and thoroughly enjoyed studying communications.

As I said before, it is nice how the world goes on. I'm glad I don't get nostalgic for my undergraduate days when I am on my way to get my teeth cleaned.