Yesterday, I was cleaning my room while listening to “People are People” by Depeche Mode, and I thought of my mother. It may surprise you, reader, that I think of her every time I listen to Depeche Mode — or Talking Heads or Neil Young or Tracy Chapman, for that matter. She not only introduced me to these artists, but I, much like my mother was in the 1980s, am also at college far away from home, listening to the same music she did in her early twenties.
Typically, these thoughts would come and go, but since I was assigned the editor’s note this week, I’ve been trying almost-perhaps-maybe a little too hard to be introspective. I attempted to write about my perspective on a Jake Sullivan quote I read and tried to find meaning in Mario Puzo's typewriter. I figured I could at least reflect on the usual low hanging fruit — my weekend escapades — but, truth be told, I spent most of it in Sanborn Library reading about the philosophies underpinning Egyptian nationalism.
In short, none of those ideas worked out, but all it took was a few minutes of a song from 1984 to realize my ideas were right in front of me. Not only that, but this note will be published exactly 61 years after my mother was born — I couldn’t have written a more perfect set-up if I tried.
If you know me, you know my mom. Maybe not literally, of course, but you’ve seen the giant Talking Heads poster in my room or complimented a sweater I was wearing that definitely used to belong to her. It’s because of her career as an archaeologist that I chose to major in Middle Eastern Studies and spent this past Saturday in the library reading about Arab political thought instead of doing anything else. I’ve often been told that we also have the same loud — but unapologetic — laugh.
At this point you understand that my mother is my patron saint of everything. Like many mothers are, she is my greatest influence and motivator — but more than that, she took on the challenge of raising me practically all by herself and gave me a better life than I could have asked for. Obviously, if my mom wasn’t born, then I wouldn’t have been born and blah blah blah, but if my mom wasn’t the person she was I recognize all the directions my life could have gone — I probably wouldn’t be at Dartmouth, and I certainly wouldn’t be writing this right now.
For most of my life, I didn’t appreciate these things. I was a moody middle schooler and then a pretentious teenager who hated being compared to her mom because she wanted to be different. As an incredibly grateful adult, however, I say to my mom: thank you, and happy birthday.
This week in Mirror, I’m not the only person reflecting — one writer shares her thoughts on the personal growth she experienced between the eclipse in 2017 and the one last week. Three others explore the academic experience at Dartmouth — from valedictorians and graduate students to the hidden places people go when they just want a break from it all. Finally, one writer talks to students and staff involved in the DOC to investigate the changes brought about by the creation of Trailhead.
Though I’m sure many of you are busy with midterms, papers, and cleaning your room, this is a polite reminder to call your mother — or your father, or your siblings, or whoever you feel grateful for — because it's probably been too long.
