Fearing that this past weekend might be my last "big" weekend at Dartmouth due to the Social and Residential Initiative, I wanted to write a scathing column that mocked the Trustees and their illogical decisions while defending the Greek system that I wholeheartedly support. But I was too busy getting sloshed and having fun. And that's the way it should be.
I've heard from a number of people, both in and out of the Dartmouth community, that my college fosters a Peter Pan Syndrome, that my four years here will be little more than an expensive camp where I can fool myself into thinking I'm still a kid before being awakened to the harsh, corporate, adult reality. Maybe they're right. But what's wrong with that?
Look around a frat basement any night of the week and you will likely find someone standing in a corner, straddling a 55-gallon garbage can, vomiting profusely after a long night of pong. Is this a problem? Well, technically, yes. Is this something we should be very worried about? Absolutely not. Because if you look closer at our poor inebriated friend, you will realize that in five or ten years, he or she will be a Wall Street tycoon, a Washington insider, an author, a lawyer, a doctor, whatever. And while the scene in the basement might make some people cringe and criticize the behavior of Dartmouth students, what is far too often lost is the scene the next morning, when this person shakes off a hangover to go to class, finish a problem set, write a poem, interview for a job, read to little kids, or lead a committee.
Maybe this is a slight exaggeration; maybe we're not all Boy Scouts helping old ladies cross Main Street all day. But at the same time, we're not a college full of dimwit barbaric drunkards wreaking havoc on this quaint little Norman-Rockwell New England town. At the risk of offending a bunch of people (it hasn't really stopped me before, so why start worrying about it now?), this isn't some backwoods Southern state school. This is Dartmouth, the Ivy League. If you got into Dartmouth, then you're either very smart or very rich (and, from what I've seen here, probably a combination of the two). I don't know much about the world yet, but I have a pretty good feeling that it's set up so if you're either very smart or very rich, you've got a halfway decent shot at happiness and success.
In some form or another, every Dartmouth student is privileged. We have to be. Our time here has to have some magical, intangible quality - otherwise there is no way to justify dropping $120 grand for four years of education from a bunch of books you could check out of a library for free. And each person has to find that special facet of Dartmouth life that begins to explain why four more years of books and teachers (excuse me, professors) cost as much as eight brand new cars. For some people, this ineffable Dartmouth quality is the location. In the middle of nowhere, Hanover's a pretty good place to get some studying done. Especially if you like cows and sheep and grass and all that other exciting stuff we have here. For others, the key Dartmouth ingredient is the people. Very few other places can you meet a bunch of generally affluent, self-assured smart kids who want to run the world as lawyers and investors and consultants. Still others are drawn to Dartmouth for its world-class library system and research facilities. I am not going to pretend to know anything about these things, so you can fill your own joke in here. For some students, Dartmouth's main attraction is the always-useful D-Plan or the world-famous Hopkins center, a veritable hotbed teeming over with culture and sophistication.
And these things are all great, don't get me wrong. But for me personally, they alone are not enough to justify the cost of Dartmouth. What makes a Dartmouth experience complete for me is the sense of youthful enthusiasm and temporary unaccountability that is unique to the College. While that may sound corny or even just plain wrong, it's true. I like the fact that I can thoroughly enjoy what's left of my youth before I'm swallowed whole by the real world. It honestly scares me to death sometimes that I'm going to leave here, a world of pong and Beast, and friends and professors, and trade it all for a world of suits, ties, city commutes, water-cooler jokes, corporate ass-kissing, and maybe even a trophy bride or two.
As I'm recovering from this beautiful sun and alcohol soaked weekend, I'm also trying to savor as much of it as I can. Maybe Dartmouth does promote an "I don't want to grow up" attitude, but I think, when weekends like this are compared to the kind of boring weekends you'll suffer through the rest of your "grown-up" life, maybe that is what's so great about Dartmouth. But don't take it from me, I'm just a kid.
