If you have ever bitten into a Littlejohn's Wild Turkey Sub late on a Friday night after going out, then you know what I'm talking about.
If you have ever been in Scott Stadium on a September afternoon, wearing an orange tie on your head screaming the "Good Ol' Song" at the top of your lungs, then you probably understand.
If you know what it feels like to drop your drawers and feel the sweet caress of the autumn air on your bare bottom as you fly toward the statue of Homer, then I think you may have an idea.
If you've walked through a warm August thunderstorm in Virginia without an umbrella and looked at the sky; if you've ever driven out to the Shenandoah to look at the stars with your friends; if you've ever worn shorts to class in February, then you've probably said it before:
"Thank God I'm a Wahoo."
If you insist on calling freshmen at other schools "first years" because you know it sounds cooler; if you've ever roadtripped to UPenn with friends and repeatedly shouted WahooWa in the middle of their campus; if you've ever been to New England in January, then you definitely get the picture.
If you've ever left Clemons at four in the morning after finishing a paper to find the streets empty and the night clear, or spent an entire day in Alderman Café without getting anything done because you've been talking with friends.
If you've ever spent the afternoon reading a book in one of the Gardens; if you've driven down University Avenue playing Jefferson Starship as loud as your car's stereo will go, then you know what I mean when I say:
"Thank God I'm a Wahoo."
And maybe you're not involved in 8,000 different organizations. Maybe you don't wear bowties or pop your collar or wear sundresses to class.
Maybe you're not a U-Guide.
Maybe sometimes you think you should have gone somewhere else, that you've made a mistake, that you don't have direction, you don't know what you're going to do with the rest of your life, and you don't wear Lacoste.
Chill out.
Call a friend. Walk with him/her to Mel's Café. Order ribs and biscuits. Talk things out. You might try using a Southern accent, even if you don't have one. You'll feel better.
If not, go to Arch's for dessert.
Soon you'll be screaming, "I have no direction! I don't know what I'm doing with the rest of my life! But I'm in college! So who cares! And thank God I don't wear Lacoste! And thank God I'm a Wahoo! And I can't believe this is frozen yogurt!"
No offense to people who pop their collars or wear Lacoste or sundresses. We love you too. You throw good parties.
Anyway, if you've ever been to a boxed wine party; if you've ever thrown a party in first-year dorms; if you hold the memory of late-night Gumby's deep in your heart, then you know what I mean.
If you're doing an interdisciplinary major; if you've visited professors in office hours in Alderman and called them by their first names because they are just "that cool"; if you've taken a seminar that you have gushed about to everyone you know (and you don't care for a SECOND that you are a GIANT NERD because NERDS ARE COOL HERE), then shout it with pride:
"NERDS ARE COOL? THANK GOD I'M A WAHOO!"
If you have ever used the words "awesome," "sketchy" and "amazing" in the same sentence; if your girlfriend at another school accidentally says "Grounds" in a conversation and groans with dismay, then you know how it feels.
If your blood boils with inexplicable hatred for Tech; if you buy all holiday gifts at Mincer's; if you suggest that next year your family should vacation in Charlottesville, then you understand where I'm coming from.
You won't be able to explain it to your friends, your family or your significant other.
They'll roll their eyes and look at their watches and stomp their feet when you talk about the Shenandoah, the Lawn, the Rotunda.
They'll ask you if you need a Kleenex.
"No thank you," you'll say. "It's just--I mean, thank God I'm a Wahoo."
Other schools just don't understand.
They say it's "poor form" to be so open about school pride. They say that "shouting 'wahoowa' is just weird and obnoxious."
They might go as far to say, "A-J, I am pretty sure no one else at U.Va. cares that much ... they probably think you're a giant dork."
The latter half true, the former most certainly not.
If you're with me, then join in. Out your car window, on the bus, in the shower.
"Thank God I'm a Wahoo."
For all of you heading out into the real world in a few weeks, good luck, have fun and come back and visit once in a while. Next year we'll have a new O'Hill (finally), and soon there will be a fab new basketball arena and swanky performing arts center.
And for everyone coming back in the fall, stay safe this summer, break lots of laws and stay tuned for more of my sap.
Because I am pretty psyched about being a Wahoo.
A-J's column runs biweekly on Tuesdays. He can be reached at ajaronstein@virginia.edu.
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