When I walked onto campus for the first time, I became keenly aware that I didn’t know anything. I was bewildered by the locations of my classes and what was said in the classes themselves. You can say those words in the classroom? Isn’t this supposed to be a teacher or something?
High school just doesn’t prepare you for the “college experience.” I actually thought I was smart. I actually thought I knew how to study, write papers and take notes. I pictured the “college experience,” as opposed to the little high school life I had led, to be something of a cross between “Good Will Hunting” and “Girls Gone Wild.” I found out that I was completely wrong.
I learned so much my freshman year. I learned how to write a paper. I learned how to manage my time. I learned of the wonderful freedom of college life-a life spent gloriously away from parents. I did get homesick every now and then, but I dealt with that by calling my parents every day.
In college, you can wear whatever you want, admit that you’re a fan of “Buffy: The Vampire Slayer” and eat as much as you want in the cafeteria. No one will think you ill-dressed, because everyone wears their pajamas to class. No one will think you weird for liking a show with “vampire” in the title, since they probably watch the show themselves. And no one will think that you’re a pig for eating a lot, since you’re only taking advantage of the “all-you-can-eat” supper in the cafeteria.
As a freshman, your value system turns around entirely. You see people say hello to each other as they walk to class. Life on campus becomes an idyllic intellectual playground of learning and freedom.
This is what I learned my freshman year. I thought that freshman year gave me a clear conception of what college life was about. How wrong I was.
When you’re a freshman, unless you’re an architecture major or in one of the equally difficult programs on campus, you have almost no work. You may think that the few papers in English Composition and the daily math assignments are hard work, but your conception of hard work is doing homework for a couple of hours a day. Believe me, I thought I had it hard.
Then I was introduced to 3000 and 4000 level classes. I experienced the pain of pulling all-nighters in order to finish three projects that were due on the same day. I realized that I had no time for reading on my own, watching TV, going for walks, eating, sleeping, personal hygiene, etc.
I thought that grading was hard my freshman year. I thought that earning a B was the end of the world, and I had dreams of graduating with a 4.0. Then I learned that there are some classes where, no matter how hard I try, I was lucky to get out of that class with a passing grade. I learned that minimal effort and an hour of studying before a test isn’t enough. I learned that I wasn’t the smartest person in the world.
I learned that every day wasn’t a happy day. People may greet each other at the beginning of the year, but try walking across the drill field during mid-terms. Everyone trudges, half-exhausted, and avoids any sort of conversation. Of course, that may have to do with the lapse in person hygiene.
I am now not ashamed that I want my mommy and daddy. I wanted an actual home-cooked meal that I didn’t have to cook. I wanted to curl up in my own bed with my old stuffed animals and never have to look at a textbook anymore. And I wanted naptime again.
Yes, freshman year misled me. I thought I was an adult. I thought I wanted to be an adult. After my sophomore and junior years, I’ve found that I actually never want to grow up. I’m not an adult, and I don’t want to be. Of course, I don’t really have a choice in the matter, but I can still pretend.
And I always have the summer.
Angela Adair is a junior English major. She can be reached at [email protected],/a>.