I originally intended to write a full-blown sequel to my now-infamous column from last week (“On Greeks, Italians and a hangover,” Oct. 2). I planned to talk about how the over-sensitivity and misinterpretations of some readers surprised me, how ironic it was that the guys I wrote about had actually suggested I write about them, and how two of those guys sent me two of the kindest, most supportive responses of the entire debacle. (One said, “I thought it was good. I can make fun of myself and not get hurt. We should do it again sometime.”) But I’m not convinced it’s worth spending another 500 words on a subject matter that, albeit controversial, doesn’t mean that much to me.
And honestly, as the wave of hostile comments and e-mails has started to die down, I’ve been thinking less about the Greek system and more about an apartment on the 21st floor of a building in St. Louis – the place I now call home.
If you had asked me even a year ago, I would never have thought that would be the case. But whoever said “You can never go home again” had it right. This summer my parents moved from our friendly, creaky, old yellow house in a suburb of Kansas City to a white-walled, carpeted two-bedroom in the STL for my mother’s new job.
It’s weird going home now – though easier thanks to the $20 STL-Chicago Megabus run, which I believe is made of rainbows and magic – to a strange city with hardly anything familiar except for my parents and our furniture. But the transition I’m making now is nothing compared to what many other college students experience in terms of their concept of “home.”
Just within the Northwestern community, I know students whose parents have divorced and/or remarried, who have had loved ones pass away, whose families have moved to an entirely different continent, even friends whose hometowns have been destroyed by natural disasters. For all the physical changes we all went through between 12 and 18, it seems we endure scores more situational, and therefore emotional, changes between 18 and 22.
As scary as that is, we can find a major upside in the new home and family we’ve gained: the relationships we’ve built during our time here at NU. During my admittedly trivial pseudo-crisis last week, I spent a ton of time talking to my real mom, dad and brother, but my new family was what really got me through: my boyfriend Tony, my self-appointed “stage mom” Christine and “brother” Melvin, and other members of my surrogate clan – my dear friends Jocelyn, Mark and Andrea, among others.
Whether you’ve had a serious catastrophe occur in your life or you’re just feeling sad, lonely or like 3,000 people want to kill you, don’t forget about your family, be they actual relatives or your home-away-from-home: your friends, classmates, advisers and roommates.
Or (dare I say it?) your sorority sisters.
Medill senior Anna Maltby can be reached [email protected].
