Though the thrill of sophomore summer may be over, its memory remains somewhere within the bodies of now defrosting '98s. I, myself, have already forgotten many of the hours spent physically in Sanborn Library and mentally by the River, taking in the sunshine. Instead, I feel nostalgia for the weekend road trips and time spent outside with friends that defined the spirit of the summer.
Still, there is one summer study experience I have not forgotten, the appearance of the "blueberry man." After all, it isn't every day that a stranger with a brown bag full of blueberries strolls through the library.
An unassuming, clean-cut twenty-something male, the "blueberry man" approached nearly all the students tucked away in the library's alcove chairs that day.
"Hi, do you like blueberries?" he asked, "I have plenty more at home, take some."
A polite few took one, staring hesitantly at the fruit.
Others slept, even snored through the curious visit.
One woman asked, "Are they poisonous?"
But, most of us refused with a smile, saying "No thank you," and returning quickly to our task of feigned study.
Apparently, our parents and kindergarten teachers had taught us well. We did not talk to this stranger, take his blueberries or open ourselves to the risks of poison fruit. Perhaps it was a memory of Snow White's apple that advised us not to take gifts of produce, but more likely the refusal was the result of a common Dartmouth syndrome --- the tendency not to place our faith in or sometimes even associate with people we do not know.
Granted, a healthy skepticism in life can be a useful tool. It can cause one to think twice before giving directions to unknown drivers or eating unwrapped candy on Halloween. However, it is not only ridiculous but also socially paralyzing to go through life afraid of pins stuck into Mars bars. What is even more damaging is when this skepticism manifests itself in situations that in no way involve bodily harm. Whatever risks are associated with asking a friend in a public place (i.e. not over Blitzmail) to get together and meaning it are not risks to physical well-being.
The syndrome I speak of seems to have different stages of acuteness. The '00s are still in phase one. Everyone these first-year students meet is a potential friend, sorority sister, fraternity brother, co-worker or classmate. Each new face holds promise and the Dartmouth community is seen through optimistic and emerald-colored glasses.
As sophomores, we become more jaded. Confined to the Lodge, River and Choates or driven off-campus by the fall housing crunch, we begin separating ourselves into smaller communities of friends. By winter term, sophomore slump has set in, and the doubts we have about ourselves translate into doubts about others as well.
A friend once told me half jokingly our sophomore year that she prefers meeting new people if she has references, a good word from a mutual acquaintance that makes the effort worth her time. And, this seems to be true for many sophomores who find themselves busy with finding internships, choosing a major and learning where to go for advice when all the first-year support systems seem to fall out from beneath them.
Still, sophomore and even junior friends are made by default. FSPs and LSAs force us to immerse ourselves in a world that oftentimes comes without references, no matter how much information we might try to gather on our fellow trippies.
Sophomore summer is a term of reunion, and for the first time in a year, nearly all our class is on campus at the same time. But the myths of sophomore summer remain myths, and the term is idealized by upperclassmen who forget the work and the rain and the difficulty of seeing all your friends now that they are indeed all back.
By junior year, we have already carved out our niches on campus. We know who our friends are, though connections become tentative over time and distance, and we cling to whatever friends remain on campus with forceful determination. We no longer see each new face as one having potential, but start to wonder if we are still at the right college. The unfamiliarity is overwhelming and we begin to feel old.
As juniors, we also become complacent. With set schedules, we run into the same people day after day, some of whom we pass after every class without ever knowing their names. Sometimes, a flicker of regret may enter our consciousness as we wonder why we never got to know some of our acquaintances better, but for the most part we are too busy or too scared to go out on a limb for people we do not know.
Though I cannot speak for seniors, who seem to be an entirely different Dartmouth animal, I often wonder if, in the end, rejections are what prepare college students for the risks of the "real world." Are all those ding letters as character-building as others convince you they are? Or do they just make it harder to put yourself on the line? Or does the transformation only occur after graduation, when most of our Dartmouth friends are separated by states and miles and we must begin again?
Until these questions are finally answered by our Dartmouth Commencement, maybe it is not such a bad idea to think twice about talking to strangers or to refuse a blueberry every once in a while. Most of us, however, are not strangers.
Perhaps it is time to suspend our disbelief, to ignore for a moment the lessons of our parents, kindergarten teachers and favorite Disney movies --- to take chances, to ask someone we always wanted to know better to meet for coffee or to introduce ourselves to the people we pass every day without acknowledging.