Nothing means summer is coming more clearly than the voice of Joe Castiglione, the announcer for the Boston Red Sox. To me anyway. At home in Maine, his narration of the game's rhythm has been the background music in every setting, season after season. In the car on the way to everywhere, but even in our living room, when my Dad is too exasperated with the poor reception our television gets with its bunny-ears antennas.
These days, I've been hearing that voice on the crackling radio in the kitchen at Molly's, downtown. I work at Molly's five or six days a week as a food runner or a busboy. I like it a lot. It keeps me in touch with a reality that's not entirely Dartmouth, and it pays the bills, which keeps me at Dartmouth.
I know I am not supposed to be embarrassed that my parents do not have a lot of money, or even enough money to contribute to my tuition at all, but I am still, for some reason, embarrassed. Supposedly half the student body here is on financial aid, but I can only think of one or two people I know who are on scholarship.
Everyone here seems to be (and perhaps it is only "seems," but nevertheless) filthy rich. Everybody I know, anyway. And statistically I guess it's true: If half the student body can afford to write a check to Dartmouth for $50,000 each year, half the student body is pretty well off.
If you were to see me on the street, I would look like a bratty, white male from New England. Which is probably why all my friends resemble bratty white people from New England. So maybe not everybody on campus feels like their friends are swimming in cash but I for one am able, or have been trained to, or have gotten caught up in blending in with a set of individuals to whom I technically do not belong.
I don't feel like I'm a poser; I just let people make their assumptions. And anyway the education, skills or connections required to actually belong to that group, or to continue belonging to that group that's why we're here, isn't it? Whoever you are, you came to Dartmouth so that your life would be afterwards, in some way, better. Or if you're particularly selfless you came to gain a better chance of making other people's lives better. Or, possibly, for intellectual reasons.
On a day to day basis, it might not seem like any of this matters. It's Dartmouth. Meritopia! Everything's fine! But the truth is, it matters. It matters to me anyway, and I have it easy. I can only imagine how this school must feel to someone who not only can't afford to keep up, but can't skate by on blending in, either.
Take, for example, what we advertise is the most essential thing about life here: Drinking. Being drunk all the time is a luxury I can't really afford, and yet pretty much everyday I am berated by people asking where I was last night, or why am I so lame, or what my plans are for tonight. Granted, I've spent years projecting the image of someone for whom socializing is a full-time occupation, so I reap what I sow, but still. It gets tiresome.
Or examine the locations of our drinking a little bit more closely: Are the frat boys on Wheelock Street really "harder" or more desirable than those on Webster Ave, or are they just richer? ... Race, religion and sexuality get their fair share of facetime, but the underlying class divides on this campus are much less talked about.
For me, money is a driving force, and not because of avarice (Lord knows I'm not pursuing lucrative career paths here) but because of necessity. When I am in a suicide-bomber mood-swing, it is usually because I am two months behind on my student loan payments or my credit card bill or I'm getting administratively withdrawn from Dartmouth (again); but I can't admit this to anyone because, simply, it's not something you talk about.
The 20 or 30 hours I will spend at the restaurant this week are a secret disadvantage I try not to talk or think about. I do not sacrifice myself (exercise, or sleep); what gets thrown out the window is fun, extracurriculars and homework, in that order. Most annoying is that those 20-30 hours can't go on my resume, and I can't let myself use them as an excuse: I still have to win class, win my extracurriculars, win working and win playing just to keep up, and blend in.
I would have liked to tell you that I believe being forced to know the value of real work will somehow be an advantage to me in life. But this is not really true. What I believe would be an advantage is having a family with money. And I would like to tell you that I believe money can't buy happiness, but this is also not really true: If I did not have to worry about the monthly student loan payments I will have upon graduating (which will be circa $1000 per month, for the next 20 years, at the least) then I could start worrying about rent. Maybe money can't buy happiness, but it can certainly be depressing.
I don't want to sound like I'm complaining. That I go to this incredible school is entirely a privilege, made possible by the love of my parents and the generosity of alumni of the College. I guess what I'm saying is that here, money doesn't matter (that much), but we can sometimes be lulled into forgetting the realities that do exist. This paradise is a gift, but I sometimes still miss the real world. Of course even here there are reminders, Some are harsh like last week when I was almost administratively withdrawn from Dartmouth because I couldn't find $169 to pay off my DA$H account. And some, like that voice on the radio reciting "A swing and a miss!" that can even make me homesick.
