All right you spiffed up, blonde streaked, ruddy cheeked first years, it's Registration Day and everyone who's anyone knows what that means -- Lawn relay races at one o'clock sharp. Oh you think I'm being flippant, do you? Hey, put away those pocket dictionaries. In the next few weeks you will learn exactly when, where and how to be flippant. But now it's time to whip you little corn fritters into shape. What was that? I can't hear you! Did the summer lifeguards with the goggle tans who are slouching in the back row have something to say? I didn't think so.
Now that I have your attention, let's take a hike down memory lane, because believe it or not, I was once just like you -- small, bright-eyed and enrolled in "ASTR 124, Celestial Bodies You'll Never Remember." I clapped for credit, yearned for Thursday nights and on a fateful August day just like this, I took part in a first-year tradition, as enduring as Mr. Jefferson's academic ideals: the "What will you bring to the cookout?" name game. I was Liz bringing limes and stood next to my new friends Corona Chris and Taco Tom. Still today (about once a year) I run into those two among the 12,000 undergrads, and we give each other hearty smiles, knowing that the Mexican fiesta ties that bind us are as strong as a pinata rope.
I honestly do want to help you first years ease into the University, like baby seals into the water. If I'm coming across as patronizing, my apologies. I realize some of you are already 19. So, let's all just relax, join hands, and sit together on the fuzzy magic carpet. Let's expose those skeletons and bulk boxes of Snuggle fabric softener that are hiding in your dorm room closets. How are you feeling today? Are you tired and cranky
perhaps a tad hot?
Hot! Well this is not the time to pull any melodramatic, melting orange-sherbet interpretation acts. Remember no one likes a push-up pop. Do you know how hot it was back when I was a first year? Picture any scene in "A Time to Kill" when rivers of sweat stream down Matthew McConaughey's chiseled face and slick back his blonde locks -- those scenes when adolescent girls sitting to close to the movie screen have to suck back their Dr. Peppers to restrain their breathy proclamations that they want to bear McConaughey's children. It was that steamy. Grown boys cried out as white cotton shirts clung to chests and girls were terrified to cross their legs, for fear their thighs would stick together. You have it easy, my friends.
Yes, this first-year group is really gelling together. I can just feel it. Now it's time for positive mental imaging. Close your eyes, breathe slowly and deeply and envision all that I say. You and those new students around you in this tight knit circle are raw oysters and red sauce, spare ribs and hickory barbecue glaze, bloody Mary's and mini Tabasco bottles. Now spice up each other's lives, first years. Spice! Spice!
Why has everyone become so quiet? Ahhh, I have put you in a deep meditative relaxed state. That reminds me of this summer, when in the quietude I noticed things in this Zen-like manner: the definition and shape of a tree, the angle of the sun and Ozzy Osborne attempting the daunting feat of microwaving popcorn. "No, Ozzy, turn the bag over to 'this side up!' Turn it over!" I shouted at the television, as if there was a man hiding behind his kitchen door with a steak knife, ready to lay it in him if all the kernels didn't pop. Enlighten me now, first years, with the wit and wisdom of your application essays that brought admissions officers to their knees. Is it the class of 2006 who has sky rocketed the ratings of this Ozzy Osborne pop culture idiocy? Who in the world is watching this stuff? I am. Never mind. Scratch that.
Oh, our time has been so short and I know it's heart wrenching that we didn't get to do some trust falls. But first I'd like to leave you with "The Allegory of the Grill," a little something I wish someone had shared with me when I was a first year.
Starting college is like discovering a new high tech grill on your patio. Your eyes open up to endless opportunities and you want to grill the universe. You try grilled herb shrimp with mango salsa, served with grilled corn, and grilled bread. You are in the zone. Nothing stands between you and the fiery charcoal embers. You grill things you love. Some nights you'll fire up things you'll really regret (grilled strawberry rhubarb crisp was a bad idea, what was I thinking?) There will be good kabob days. And there will be bad kabob days. Just remember it takes a while to get a taste of things. It also helps to have people there to occasionally say, "Put the spatula down, you're going to burn yourself."
Most importantly, though, please just promise me one thing ... that you'll remember to get on ISIS and final register. Because you know what happens to first years that don't final register -- they get booted back home to mama. I'm serious.
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