Sigh, the lazy summer is over...

Today I made the (obviously bad) decision to stop in the school's bookstore to pick something up. Apparently, it's been so long since I first started college that I'd forgotten what a complete and total madhouse college bookstores are the day before classes start. I'm standing in the mile-long line for the registers and I couldn't help but overhear a zillion conversations between mostly new students. Freshman, of course, have not yet learned that it's actually cheaper to buy their books online or at one of the off-campus bookstores. Anyway, it was so entertaining to listen to them introduce themselves, talk about what classes they're taking, what dorm they live in, etc. that it got me thinking about my first few days of college.

In a word, they were terrifying. I was in no way, shape or form ready to start college. I was way too happy with my friends and way too comfortable with my familiar life at home, and college was just way too big of a change for me. But, since all of my friends were going to college and I had no intention of being left behind, I went. Looking back, this was probably one of the biggest and best growing experiences of my life (as college should be), but back then, I felt like my life was literally being ripped apart at the seams and sewn back together into something I didn't recognize. In a way I guess it was, and I suppose that's what happends to most kids who go away to college. Anyway, I remember my first week at school being confusing, if nothing else. I had spent my entire life in the same house, going to school with the same people and now, there I was, all alone and wondering how on earth I'd ever find friends as good as I'd had growing up. It eventually happened, of course, but man did that first week suck.

My high school friend's boyfriend happened to be a sophomore at my college and he called on the 2nd or 3rd day to see if I wanted to hang out and I don't think I'd ever been so happy to see a familiar face in my entire life. We didn't know each other that well, but it didn't matter because he was the closest thing I had to home.

I think what I remember being the most difficult part of that first week was the inevitable choice of whether or not to party. Let's face it, partying at college happens. A lot. And the year I started at my school, it made Playboy's top 5 party schools. Yet I hadn't been much of a partier in high school. Sure, I'd been to parties with alcohol (sorry mom & dad), and sure, I'd had a few drinks before (sorry again), but at that point I preferred sobriety and let me tell you, there is nothing worse than being the only sober person at a frat party. But I was fully in the minority in the party debate. I totally understand the lure of that first week of college. You're away from home and fully independent for the first time, mom & dad aren't going to check up on you and even if they do, they'll never really know what you're up to. And besides, it's college--everybody's doing it.

I wasn't against people partying, I just didn't want to do it myself. I think I lucked out in that not many people gave me a hard time because I went to parties, but didn't drink, and I didn't have a "holier-than-thou" attitude about it. So I quickly established myself as the "mother hen" of my floor. Did you drink youself into oblivion and now need someone to peel you off the bathroom floor or hold your hair while you puke? Knock on my door because I'm probably the only one sober enough to do either of those things. Tired of that pervy frat boy trying to convince you to go up to his room, but too drunk to think straight? Find me and I'll steer you away (he's probably too drunk to put up much of a fight anyway). Until I found my niche, it was actually an ok set-up (except for the whole puking part. That got annoying).

I thought about all of this as I listened to the students around me at the bookstore today and I wondered how many of them face the same dilemma I had faced, or how many of them realize how fast friends can and will change in this environment, at least at first. I didn't stay the sober party-goer. By my sophomore year I was just as ready as the next person to imbibe (ok mom & dad, just take me out of the will now)--but not at frat parties. I always hated frat parties. And indeed, the niche I had found my freshman year and was not the niche I had for the rest of my college career. Sometimes I start to worry for my students, but then I remember that I ended up really really happy at college, and they probably will, too.