January 20, 2005

You know, there was a time when kindergarteners looked big and intimidating, with their cool camouflage backpacks and cool streams of snot hanging from their nostrils and all that worldly knowledge about elementary school ("If you get sent to the principal's office, they give you a shot! "). Now, of course, even sophomores at college look practically like babies to me. I can only tell them apart because the students are slobberier and less able to control themselves in movie theaters and restaurants.

If you don't believe me, check this out. During a recent, Harding-approved screening of DreamWork's Shark Tale, a freshman seated behind me by a row or so made the following acute observation, which I reproduce for you verbatim:

"PBBBBBBBBBBTHHHHHHHH!"

This was followed by a round of giggles from his fellow lowerclassmen, as well as a round of violent fantasies from his fellow Chris Guin, who was trying, futilely, to enjoy the movie.* Instead of appreciating the subtle and poignant humor of a computer animated fish voiced by Will Smith talking "street," I spent most of the movie feeling old and fogeyish, thinking thoughts like "Kids these days! I'll show them what for! I should really think about getting a weekly pill organizer!" and so on.

Freshmen and sophomores not only seem to act like babies on a frequent basis, but they're starting to look like babies, too. Let's say you were to open up a Harding yearbook from 1991, or, in cultural terms, several eons ago. The men and women in the student photo section are well groomed and well dressed, smiling in a steadily practiced fashion, hair swept neatly to the side as if to say, "Bangs? Who needs bangs? I want to emphasize my prominent and balding forehead now while the getting's good!" Mustaches abound. Yes, the faces are often young looking, but the demeanor, clothing, hairstyles, and everything else suggests "I only wish to achieve the frowning, dusty, tweedish appearance of my elders in hopes that I may join, someday, in the regular enjoyment of dried fruits for breakfast."

But now let's turn to a more recent Harding yearbook. There are no nice clothes to be found, only t-shirts from church camps with names like "Camp Ekpornevo: Because All The Other Greek Words in the New Testament Were Taken!" Their hairstyles appear designed to suggest either childishness or outright sloth, occasionally so nappy that actual colonies of lemurs have taken up residence in them. The general impression is something to the effect of "If we all work together, we can make sure high school never ends!" Or "I hope my parents never stop supporting me because I plan on spending my entire life in front of the PS2. Pass the Mountain Dew."

It's not that hair and such are so important. Especially "such." And if we were forced to dress up for the yearbook photos I would only whine. But I can't help thinking something's changed. College people always seemed so mature, practically adults. Whereas now, watching freshmen race wheelie chairs down the aisle of Staples, "practically adults" is one of the farthest phrases from my mind.

It's very easy to tell a freshman on campus. They typically fall into two categories - the overcompensator and the undercompensator (I was the latter). The overcompensator is always trying to impress people with his self-confidence, a bizarre social paradox that makes me want to roll my eyes so far I might get stuck looking like a saint from a Renaissance painting. They are often outgoing in a strange, pretentious sort of way, yelling "Hey!" to people across the student center as if to say, "Look at me! Saying hey to you! How cool must I be?" They answer every question the professor poses, even the rhetorical ones, and they often go around "participating" in campus events like. watching Shark Tale. Or Spring Sing. Or any number of ridiculous pastimes that we upperclassmen are often asked to participate in and always reply, "What?! Are you a victim of head trauma? Did you recently watch an episode of Will & Grace? Gehenna, no!" (And then after the five-millionth request we say "Ok" because we are stupid like that.)

The undercompensator, meanwhile, hopes not to be noticed at all. To accomplish this goal, he is often seen wandering self-consciously and forlornly to conspicuously lonely places such as the nether regions of the Harding cafeteria (or as we Harding students call it for short, the sound of half-digestive ramen noodles hitting the floor), and staring puppy-dog-eyed at passers-by for an awkward second before turning away ashamed, as if to say, "Won't you be my friend? Oh. no. you wouldn't, would you.") I have seen an undercompensator standing outside a classroom door staring down at the doorknob, as if he had suddenly forgotten how to work the dang thing, when it turned out he was simply confused by the presence of a straggling student from the class before still seated inside writing something down. It was the right room at the right time, at least according to his schedule which he held out in front of him and kept looking to, as if maybe he had read it wrong, or maybe he had read it right and if he just kept reading it reality would change and that straggler would go away. Or maybe it would say, in a special column on the schedule, "Warning! There may be a straggler or two from previous class! Do not be alarmed! Proceed normally into classroom!" I surprised myself by opening the door for him and walking on through.

Fortunately, it is possible (or, I dare say, inevitable) to get over both syndromes and become a self-important, cynical upperclassman such as me, refusing to enjoy college activities because it might make me look juvenile. Really, who wouldn't want that?

I honestly thought that by this time I would be mostly sad to be leaving Harding, and while I am sad to be leaving many wonderful friends and many wonderful dormitory lakes caused by poor drainage, I'm not sad at all to be leaving the school. Come on. I've been going to school for sixteen odd years now, and it's really time to do something else. Such as go to grad school.

So anyway, I'm off to organize my pills. Don't go getting into any trouble now, you hear?

* It wouldn't have mattered. The movie was almost totally unedited, which is strange for the Harding University administration ("See No Evil, Hear No Evil, Go Find Evil on Cable Later") as even Finding Nemo had to be censored for the word "butt," which I must stress I am not making up. But I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. If they had edited out all of the stupid or inane parts of Shark Tale we would have been left with half of the DreamWorks logo.