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September-October 2007
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Homes Away from Homes
Though I have two years left before I bid farewell to Harvard, I stayed through Commencement this past June to write for the Crimson and volunteer during reunion events. The day after graduation, I was frenetically removing my life from the fifth-floor room in Dunster House where I had lived during the two weeks after exams. The weather was sweltering, my parents had just driven in from Illinois, and I was seriously contemplating throwing all of my clothes into garbage bags and chucking them out the window when my computer chimed. A desperate e-mail had popped into my in-box: “Tour guide needed at 3 pm for alumni in town for their 30th reunion.” Hastily I replied, “Sure, I got it covered.” I find showing visitors around Harvard a rewarding and often hilarious experience. From the moment a tourist’s hand shot up to demand, “Where’s Cape Cod?” in the middle of my spiel, to my all-time favorite—“How many squirrels are there at Harvard?”—the hour I spend with strangers makes me look at my school with fresh eyes. As corny as it sounds, I love giving tours because I love being someone’s “face” of Harvard: a formerly intimidating establishment that is now my home. When I give tours, I talk about the school the way a proud mother might talk about a slightly misguided but well-intentioned child. Because I give tours through Harvard’s information office, not through the admissions office, my usual audiences are tourists, not prospective students. Thus, my chief responsibility is not to “sell” the school, but to give a well-rounded account of its history and modern idiosyncrasies. I chattered on and on to the thirtieth reunioners about what it was like to go to Harvard in the twenty-first century. I talked about the birth (and impending death) of the Core curriculum and elaborated on the socioeconomic diversity fostered by the Harvard Financial Aid Initiative. When they asked how the re- signation of former President Lawrence H. Summers was received on campus, I spoke about the pro-Larry protest I witnessed outside Mass. Hall, articulated my frustration with the Faculty of Arts and Sciences, and showed them the new Harvard College Women’s Center in the basement of Canaday. We had a long talk about how the Internet has shaped modern college life, and they were surprised when I told them that their own high-school kids probably had accounts on Facebook.com. I felt empowered merely by my status as a 20-year-old College student. As I explained how the housing system had changed radically since they had left Harvard, I joked about the former stereotypes of each undergraduate House and the holdovers from that era that continue today. Yet even though I was feeling rather pleased with how well-informed I was, I realized that, despite being able to use the word “blockmate” with relative ease and speak about randomization, I wasn’t really any more knowledgeable than the alumni I escorted. Though I am well versed in speaking about Harvard—my home today—so were they 30 years ago. And by the time I come back for my thirtieth—or by the time their youngest kids are filling out a FAFSA and a common app (the ubiquitous financial-aid and admissions forms required for Harvard applications)—I will be long past the era when I can call Harvard home. All college students have that moment that surprises them and demoralizes their parents: the moment when they first refer to going back to school as “going home.” I remember my mother looking at me like a wounded animal. “How could you call that place home?” she asked. Yet Harvard’s idiosyncrasies—including my double bedroom (the size of a moderately generous closet), the cockroach that jovially followed me into my common room one night this year, and beef fajita fettuccini (that culturally ambiguous culinary experience served every so often in the dining hall)—have somehow come together to make this place feel comfortable and natural. Despite all of the patently un-homey things about Harvard, it is where I live. In the two years since I left Illinois, Harvard has shifted from being my school to being my home away from home. 1 | 2 | continued >  
 
 
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