A few weeks ago I traveled back to the town where I attended college. My daughter had a basketball tournament there, and I was excited to see the old sights again. It had been a long time. A long time. So much so that the entire experience seemed like an extended dream as I was living it. At every turn, I could vaguely remember the streets and houses and bars and buildings and sidewalks and more that I was traversing down and that had been part of my life for four and a half years, but still, everything was completely hazy and unfamiliar at the same time.
Sure, driving past the Amigos that was still in the same spot as 20 or plus years ago conjured up the memory of Danny being banned from that fine establishment because of some drunken escapades, but I couldn't really remember any other events of that night. It seemed as if I couldn't remember many events from any other nights either. I couldn't remember the names of the bars I had spent so many hours in. I couldn't remember the names of the streets I had walked down. I couldn't remember the names of but more than a few professors that I had spent hour after hour learning from. I couldn't recall many of the names of the kids who lived in the same dorm as I did. The experience was a disconcerting one to say the least, and I felt badly because of it.
But later on, as things soaked in and I was walking along some campus walkways, some things started to come back. I started to be able to picture myself all those years ago in some of the buildings. I could remember every so faintly how they looked and felt. I started to recognize some of the sights off campus, as well. Even the ones that weren't present any longer seemed to come back. The more I walked, the more I remembered.
Like the night my roommate Doug said he was going to 7-11, said he would be right back, but didn't return until the next day for reasons he was eager to discuss or clear up. Or the mud volleyballs games we played in that pit west of campus. Or those long, long walks I made in the winter to west campus to that dreaded economics class I struggled so mightily in. I started to remember all the bad food I ate and stole from the PFM and all the Frisbee golf we played and all the meeting and sporting events I sat through so I could write about them in the student newspaper.
More than anything, though, I started to remember the conversations I had deep into the night with friends, who like me, were just starting to find their way through life on their own. I started to remember those nights Connie, Doug, Steph, and I sat around that kitchen table smoking cheap cigarettes and drinking Buds. I started remembering those late nights my roommate Ray and I talked about any and everything after the parties we had and everyone else had left. Talking about anything was a talent that Ray was a master of and of which I miss greatly. I started t remember those many nights sitting alone in the library trying to study and the night Doug somehow got himself locked in and decided to use the time exploring. I started to remember the many mornings when I was walking out the door to head to class as Daryl was walking in the door after spending all night out. I started to remember the countless poker games. The countless drinking games. The countless pool and ping pong games. I started to remember the long, long walks we made to parties at some house located miles away in the dead of winter and never seemingly feeling cold. I remembered all those parties Ray, Carter, Jeff, and I had while living in that farmhouse and how much fun that year was. I remembered the semester I hosted a talk show for the campus TV station, the horrible sweaters I chose to wear, and how horrible I was in front of a camera. I started to remember how Suzanne could make me laugh until my sides hurt and how much I appreciated that.
I used to really believe for years that I didn't enjoy my college years all that much. I guess it just took putting some distance between then and now to realize I was wrong. I grew up a lot during those years. I opened a lot of doors and got to know a lot of people. Some of those people still influence me in one way or another today. Some of those times still resonate within me. In many ways college seemed like a constant struggle that was made up of work, work, work, and more work. I realize now that wasn't really the case. I so fondly appreciate those many night sitting and drinking coffee and smoking cigarettes. I miss those nights sitting across from a good friend in a bar booth, sharing a pack and scraping together enough change for another round. I miss those hours built on beer, cigs, and no discernible responsibilities. Beer and cigarettes will never appeal to me again the way they did then.
Sure, driving past the Amigos that was still in the same spot as 20 or plus years ago conjured up the memory of Danny being banned from that fine establishment because of some drunken escapades, but I couldn't really remember any other events of that night. It seemed as if I couldn't remember many events from any other nights either. I couldn't remember the names of the bars I had spent so many hours in. I couldn't remember the names of the streets I had walked down. I couldn't remember the names of but more than a few professors that I had spent hour after hour learning from. I couldn't recall many of the names of the kids who lived in the same dorm as I did. The experience was a disconcerting one to say the least, and I felt badly because of it.
But later on, as things soaked in and I was walking along some campus walkways, some things started to come back. I started to be able to picture myself all those years ago in some of the buildings. I could remember every so faintly how they looked and felt. I started to recognize some of the sights off campus, as well. Even the ones that weren't present any longer seemed to come back. The more I walked, the more I remembered.
Like the night my roommate Doug said he was going to 7-11, said he would be right back, but didn't return until the next day for reasons he was eager to discuss or clear up. Or the mud volleyballs games we played in that pit west of campus. Or those long, long walks I made in the winter to west campus to that dreaded economics class I struggled so mightily in. I started to remember all the bad food I ate and stole from the PFM and all the Frisbee golf we played and all the meeting and sporting events I sat through so I could write about them in the student newspaper.
More than anything, though, I started to remember the conversations I had deep into the night with friends, who like me, were just starting to find their way through life on their own. I started to remember those nights Connie, Doug, Steph, and I sat around that kitchen table smoking cheap cigarettes and drinking Buds. I started remembering those late nights my roommate Ray and I talked about any and everything after the parties we had and everyone else had left. Talking about anything was a talent that Ray was a master of and of which I miss greatly. I started t remember those many nights sitting alone in the library trying to study and the night Doug somehow got himself locked in and decided to use the time exploring. I started to remember the many mornings when I was walking out the door to head to class as Daryl was walking in the door after spending all night out. I started to remember the countless poker games. The countless drinking games. The countless pool and ping pong games. I started to remember the long, long walks we made to parties at some house located miles away in the dead of winter and never seemingly feeling cold. I remembered all those parties Ray, Carter, Jeff, and I had while living in that farmhouse and how much fun that year was. I remembered the semester I hosted a talk show for the campus TV station, the horrible sweaters I chose to wear, and how horrible I was in front of a camera. I started to remember how Suzanne could make me laugh until my sides hurt and how much I appreciated that.
I used to really believe for years that I didn't enjoy my college years all that much. I guess it just took putting some distance between then and now to realize I was wrong. I grew up a lot during those years. I opened a lot of doors and got to know a lot of people. Some of those people still influence me in one way or another today. Some of those times still resonate within me. In many ways college seemed like a constant struggle that was made up of work, work, work, and more work. I realize now that wasn't really the case. I so fondly appreciate those many night sitting and drinking coffee and smoking cigarettes. I miss those nights sitting across from a good friend in a bar booth, sharing a pack and scraping together enough change for another round. I miss those hours built on beer, cigs, and no discernible responsibilities. Beer and cigarettes will never appeal to me again the way they did then.
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