A few weeks ago, I visited my high school in New Mexico, and it was a visit like none before it -- in complete calmness, and not without some sadness, I revisited the hallowed ground upon which my golden, final two years of high school had been etched.
The first time I came back to visit (the summer after I graduated), I was inexplicably nervous, and felt acutely out of place (or "obtusely in place," whichever way you wanna cut the angle). After exchanging a friendly hug, a girl asked me, "Geez, why are you shaking?"
After I told her Geez was actually one of my friends, I realized I couldn't answer the question. Perhaps it was because I was in limbo, finding myself in-between high school and college, not at home in either one; perhaps it was cold in the building; perhaps it was because this girl was an absolute freak, and had once stuck a wrapped tampon packet in my mouth after asking me to "open my mouth and close my eyes." It was an enigma, a wild dice-chase, a game of goose, a free-for-all ... and I was paying the 24.2 percent tax-and-tip to cover it.
But on this last visit, I was aware of the more than two years that had passed since I entered college. The seniors I recognized that day had once been half-runts, looking up to the godlike pursuits of my class when we were seniors, and they'd always be young in my eyes. I even know some of the current juniors there, thanks to a drama class I was once in (just me and a whole slew of eighth graders).
The juniors I saw recognized me, even after two years' hiatus. This reminded me of the high school sophomore who this summer recognized me on the streets of Hanover and said, "Hey, you're Lee Istrail." I'd never met the kid, and I thought to myself, "Wow, I must've been some kind of cult-hero to this guy if he recognized me after two years, halfway across the country, without ever having met me!"
And so it was, that I visited the new kings and queens of my high school, looking much like my classmates did in our time of reign. How had these years passed so swiftly? A sad wisdom passed over my brow, such as all unexplainable time periods tend to evoke, and I calmly surveyed these new hopefuls, offered bits of advice, and wondered at how difficult it was for me to identify with any of them.
Here at Dartmouth, I seem to be a junior this term, halfway through my college career. Students from my class are the Student Assembly leaders, and the president delivered a riveting speech at Convocation this week. Heirs to the throne are we? It is with both pride and trepidation that I ascend, as I recognize I've changed for the better, yet still wonder that I haven't changed even more fundamentally.
The bridge that I remember between college freshmen and upperclassmen: have I really crossed it, or am I just older and more familiar with dear old Dartmouth? Can I convey these things to you without resorting to old and familiar cliches and cynicism?
Freshmen, I will spare you my "things to do/not do freshman year" list, nor will I repeat for your enjoyment the "open-minded curiosity sermon" I once heard a college professor give.
Just remember that there's at least one junior here who often wishes he were one of you again, and that you too may one day have a bit of "sad wisdom" pass over your brow.
