The 4-year bridge
It’s positively shocking to ponder, but somehow, our niece will turn 18 this summer and go off to college in the fall! She is a talented artist, whip-smart, insightful, funny, and kind. I can’t wait to see where her life takes her.
When she was younger, she was adamant that she did not want to go to college. I don’t know why she changed her mind, but I’m so glad she did. Not because a college degree is required for future success in life. It isn’t. Plenty of people have proven that. No, I’m glad she’s changed her mind because of all the benefits of the college experience that have nothing to do with an academic education.
College is a unique time in life; it serves as a bridge, of sorts, between childhood and adulthood. Of course, I didn’t see that when I was young. It’s only in the rear-view mirror of life that I’m able to see my college years for what they were — four years during which I had all the freedom and independence of adulthood, with almost none of the responsibilities. A wild and wonderful imbalance, looking out from that bridge, only opportunity with no restraints, as far as the eye can see.
I earned my undergraduate degree at Penn State University. Forget my major because it hardly mattered then, and most certainly doesn’t matter now. One of the best parts of Penn State was its sheer size. Tens of thousands of students from all over the world converged on a small island of heaven in the middle of the Pennsylvania mountains. There’s a reason they call it Happy Valley, although by the time we got to senior year, we were so antsy to be done, we started calling it Crappy Valley.
I loved being just a number on Penn State’s vast Main Campus. I loved the anonymity of getting lost in the crowd. I’d always struggled with invisibility and here, everyone was invisible, so I finally belonged! No one of any authority really cared what I did or didn’t do. Gone were the days when a teacher took an interest in whether or not I worked up to my full potential. University professors didn’t care whether anybody did the work or not. I could choose to succeed or fail, as I saw fit, and the grade beside my social security number on a computer print-out mattered to no one (well, except maybe my parents).
For me, the best part of college was the social aspect. I never considered joining a sorority; Greek life was not for me. I saw so many young women live and die by “rush week” and all that followed, but the whole idea seemed so fake and hollow to me. I preferred to make my friends the old-fashioned way: by earning them organically. Not by paying $500-plus to join a grueling process of pretentious interviews for weeks on end, so that dozens of bleached blondes could decide if I was good enough to share their Greek hieroglyphics. Um… no, thank you.
Even so, I had many close friends at Penn State and we enjoyed dipping our toes in adulthood together from time to time, testing to see how it felt to make adult decisions, knowing we could retreat back to adolescence if things got too real. Somehow, I never lost the sense of being in a kind of protective bubble. I always had a sense of how lucky I was to be there, and that my comfy nest was temporary so I’d better enjoy it while I can.
One winter night in particular stands out in my mind. A light dusting of snow softened the sounds of traffic from downtown as a friend and I made our way up the sidewalk toward Old Main. Majestic and proud Old Main, built of Pennsylvania limestone, looking as though she’s been sitting there watching over her children for centuries. We were walking back to the dorm from The Deli, a trendy pub that was a popular after-theater dessert spot. We had seen a play and decided that The Deli’s famous banana cream pie and coffee were in order. We’d been seated in the Hippo Room, so called because of its enormous brass hippo mounted above a roaring fireplace, so cozy on cold winter nights.
It was late and everything was gently muted by the snow. Weightless powder drifting down gave each street light a halo. Then Old Main chimed midnight, like a massive grandfather clock that could be heard all over the campus and the town. I stopped on the sidewalk, closed my eyes, and let the reverberations of the chiming pulse through my body, counting to 12.
It feels as though a large piece of who I am still resides at Penn State. Walking those sidewalks, slick with ice in winter, with a constant, biting wind. Sneaking into the back of a fluorescent classroom to sit in a hard plastic chair that’s too small for all my stuff. Oh God, when will 90 minutes be over, is that clock even working? My transcript tells the tale of too many times when I abandoned my studying in favor of joining my friends for happy hour at one of the many bars downtown, all within walking distance of campus.
Admittedly, Penn State endured a terrible scandal 15 years ago, which was heartbreaking for those of us who call it home. But I’ve never once regretted my association with the university, never regretted graduating from there, never spoken a disparaging word about it since I left. I received an academic education and a degree there, yes, but so much more! And while she won’t be attending Penn State, I’m expecting that our niece will discover new aspects of herself at college, new convictions, and a solid sense of self. As I told her, college is where the adult version of me was born.
