I’m still reeling from your 18th birthday, Monkey. An adult. It’s a big change, I think more for me than for you.
But today, you started university.
When I went to university, Nana and Granddad drove me up to Waterloo, Ontario. They found our way to the Village 2 residence. They got me checked in for my room. They helped cart my stuff up to the West 1 floor. They met my roommate Roger at the same time they did.
And then they left.
I had my Frosh week (Roger and I figured out how to skip out of much of the stupider stuff). I met the guys on my floor (and some of the girls on the floor above us). We learned where things were on the campus. We had a few parties. I was there until Thanksgiving. I phoned home every now and then (but we had to pay for long distance phone calls; it wasn’t cheap back then, so we kept it to a minimum).
But I don’t remember my first day of class. Not at all. I think I was a bit bewildered, but that’s mostly a guess. I know I walked in with way more confidence than I should have had. (And I paid for it in my first semester.) I didn’t know what to expect.
You had your orientation last week. No Frosh, though. Probably for the best, too. I never really understood how any first year students got anything out of Frosh week except life-long humiliation. You and your friends (luckily, there are a few of you going to UofC) are still together, something I think will serve you well.
I don’t know what lies ahead for you. Post-secondary is not a linear path. It’s not even communal. There may be a few on the same path as you, but your steps will be different than nearly everyone else’s. You might not even be at UofC the entire time (don’t get me wrong, it’s a good school, but I still hope you transfer to SFU).
Welcome to the next part of your life, Monkey.
