When I entered high school, I felt naive, clueless, and a little bit like someone had pasted a big yellow smiley face on my forehead that only I couldn't see. Upperclassmen treated many freshmen as if we were not only lowerclassmen, but lower class as well.
As I made my way up the secondary school ladder I became more and more comfortable with just being myself. I carved my own niche rather than trying to squeeze into one supplied by my school; I painted my own murals, connecting my landscapes to the one around me; and I led my own protests, literally. I knew who I was, and what's more, everyone else knew who I was too. I was known by many of my peers and teachers as a writer and a person of principle. I had a reputation, and quite frankly, I liked the name I had built for myself.
And then, last April, I was told that I would have to start over, to come to a new place 265 miles from home, where I would know very few people and precious few people would know me.
But this time I knew the tattoo on my forehead would be writ in vanishing ink. So I packed a retractable clothesline, some stackable milk crates, three sets of extra-long bedding, two pair of green jogging pants, the Dictionary of Phrase and Fable and headed north. North to high mountains and low-lying fog. North to, well... green.
I did not know what to expect, and yet, nonetheless, I was surprised by the spectacle of the Salty Dog Rag performed on the lawn of Robinson Hall, and the willingness of upperclassmen to teach those of us who had never seen it before.
The Outing Club canoe trip was the best way to start college; unpressured, unaware of day or time, we were left to form new friendships and survive new experiences (even the cous-cous). During the day on the river, as the current pulled us gently toward our destination, we basked in the sunlight and pitied the poor hikers. When daylight ran out, there was nothing to do but talk, and so we did.
Dartmouth College is special. It's the people and their attitudes that make it so. No one is here for Ivy League status. No one is competing with their friend for grades. No one is considered lower class. We're all equal, and we know it. The rest of the world could take a clue, or two, from Dartmouth.
As for me, I'm sure that over my four-year respite here I will find at least a few excuses to criticize the school in the confines of this newspaper, but that can't change the overwhelming feeling I have today. I have only been in residence for a week, but I feel safe here. Dartmouth already feels like a home. I'm a shmen, and proud of it.
