Last Friday, I finally grasped that nothing I do will cure the undercurrent of stress and anxiety caused by my impending graduation and the future. Browsing through a New York Times blog called The Graduates during a break from the online job postings, I hoped to find a grain of truthful guidance through this agonizing transition. But I only found proof of the ubiquitous, undying nature of this malaise.
Sometime during my first year in the Boy Scouts, I went on a hike and never came back. I wasn’t alone; perhaps five other kids and an adult scoutmaster set off with me early that morning. It was meant to be a five-miler and we were supposed to be back by lunchtime. I wasn’t found until one in the morning.
My dad and I had just sat down to a spaghetti dinner when the pounding on the door began. It was furious and incessant, as if someone were trying to knock the door down. My dad hurriedly shuffled to the door and opened it a crack. A screaming woman forced her arm through the opening and the rest of her body followed. Someone, she said, was trying to kill her. Running over, I caught a glimpse of the snowy moonlit expanse outside the front door. There, wild, noble-looking and gray, stood a Siberian Husky. The door slammed shut, and my dad twisted the deadbolt into place.
Last Thursday, during halftime of the Men’s basketball game against Oregon, ten individuals—men and women—filed onto the court. Some walked with a limp, some with a cane, all were veterans of the Iraq war. Most of them looked to be in their early 20s. I distinctly remember one of them, a young man with crutches and a missing leg.
Caitlin Pedati (NHS ’07) said that when she moved into her house on the 3300 block of Prospect St. this summer with five other girls, dead roaches littered the floor and the interior needed cleaning and repainting. “I don’t think the house was safe when we moved in,” Pedati said. “I easily put a grand into cleaning and fixing up things.”
The girls found paper towels under a radiator and cracked or missing tiles on the kitchen and bathroom floors. There were no ground wires for electricity, and none of the fire alarms worked. The only fire extinguisher downstairs was “ancient,” Pedati said. “It’s been an absolutely miserable experience. “