Start

Wish I were her, pushing that cart, her whole possession for the journey: across the campus, down to University Boulevard and Main St. Weekend hangouts, the Corner Room and the alley (where I used to listen to WXLR soft rock).

At the Student Union Building, during Orientation, various student organizations are out to recruit. Then lectures, concerts, free or otherwise.

We used to have Coffee House and subsidized flicks. And of course, the Collegian for aspiring journalists.

The gym and football season in the Fall energize the whole community. All this barely scratches the surface. Four years? what four years?

Then the panic. Senior panic. Invitations to friends’ weddings, Upstate or in state.

Companies used to recruit on campus. Seniors in suits and ties. From class to interviews. And on Sunday mornings, those in suits are the ones going to church.

We read and ran. It was the second half of the 70’s. Everyone runs. Just Do It. Socks covered calves, not low-cut.

I remember sitting in the hallway, waiting our turn to access the computer (only two at the time for the whole student body).

For broadcast students, like myself, a P/T job working for an on-campus studio was quite a career-making opportunity. Then the internship. Then the job offers.

From the bottom of the totem pole, up, one rung at a time.

Although that bin contains all a freshman’s belonging (and prior knowledge), by the time school is done with him/her, he/she should be learning from many respected intellectuals. I love Speech profs. They always looked you in the eyes. They enunciated. They spoke clearly and articulately.

Cable was emerging. CNN wasn’t even born then. But we learned radio, we learned Residual Message. And we learned about “noise” and perception (selective).

Now I look at a Penn Stater, on move-in date, I can’t help asking : have I done myself justice. Have I acted on what I learned i.e. consideration for others, interaction with others and through the process, learned to stand aside to let myself go, After all, when at home, I was programmed to please my parents.

On campus, and at work, it’s the profs and supervisors. Now in life, I meant to be true to my inner self. its longing and passion, its dream and disappointment. I hope for new arrivals on campus, a life of dedication and single-mindedness. To serve and leave this world a better place.

When my parents passed away, I was at a loss. Just as when I first arrived late on campus stateless and penniless. Not knowing who to turn to. Authorities I need for structure and reward. Self-redemption turns out to be a lifelong process, of being both stern and soft with yourself, in the absence of authority figures.

To my surprise, it’s the next generation who, coming from behind, emerges as viable replacement of profs on campus and parents at home. Even though I still looked up to and loved them, it’s those who are in the rearview mirror that matter more.

Simply because they will be better informed , more educated and self-actualizing to face the future. Not to mention, more gears for the gig. A whole bin full.