I believe it was the girl with the Technicolor dreams, cute shoes and yappy dog who told us "there's no place like home." And though I love the college life, I must say going home every several months is such a relaxing and comfortable experience that I think Dorothy had it right, even though she was semi-delusional. Also, seeing as the publication of this column falls in the period between fall break and parents weekend, I thought it would be fitting to write about my experience going home and spending time with dear old mom and dad since, in some shape or form, many of our parental units or guardians will or have recently descended upon us to share their love, advice and, best of all, money. Just kidding. Best of all: food.
I had not been home since the end of July, when I returned from England for a day before I had to pack up and move to Charlottesville. My most recent memories of home before coming back for fall break were a jet-lagged haze of me sulking around the house suffering from post-Eurotrip depression. So I was eager to make the journey up Rte. 29 home for a night this past reading holiday to hang out with my parents, play with my cat, enjoy the familiar sight of the D.C. skyline and spend some quality time in a decent shopping mall.
The beauty of home is that it is the antithesis of your college life, but in a good way. When you open the freezer you aren't hit in the face with 50 boxes of Lean Pockets. All the food in the fridge is well before its expiration date, and there aren't any dishes in the sink filled with mysteriously colored liquids. Laundry doesn't cost $1.50 to wash and $1.25 to dry, and you don't have to worry about a random sketchy neighbor rifling through your unmentionables. The Washington Post is delivered daily and you can peruse the Style section without worrying about making it to class or finishing the last 10 pages of a novel you're required to read. The water pressure in the shower is perfect and doesn't turn cold after five minutes. There are always clean towels. Drunk people don't run back and forth outside your window screaming at 3 a.m. Ah, the comforts of suburbia.
Another great thing about visiting home for a short period of time is that your parents miss you and compensate their not seeing you for months by spoiling you. Only a truly loving mother would save a recent issue of US Weekly, featuring Dr. McDreamy on the cover, and place it by her daughter's bedside. Incidentally, my brother claims he subscribed to this magazine by accident when he meant to order ESPN Magazine. A likely story, bro. Speaking of the other younger sibling who recently left for college, it was nice to finally be the only (and favorite) child for the first time in 18 years.
Yes, the comforts of home seem to exist in a universe outside of college -- all your problems and stress over all the work you aren't doing vanishes away at the sight of your old bedroom with your old ratty stuffed animal you've had forever and your old desk where you churned out all the high school homework you thought was so hard. My relief at relinquishing the responsibilities of college for a weekend could explain why I put off starting a 10-page midterm until the night before it was due, but that is neither here nor there. How ironic is it that most of us were so eager to get to college and yet now the "homey" aspects of home don't seem so bad?
Being an aged third-year who has spent a fair amount of time away since I came to the University, it is weird to think of the place where I grew up as not truly my home any longer. When the phone rings -- first, it throws you off because it's a land line, but then it's never for you. The person who is calling for your parents is always surprised you are there.
Wow, I just realized this column got really nostalgic, and I usually think columns that try to be meaningful are lame. But hopefully you all can identify with my tribute to life before dining hall food and living in the library became part of your daily existence. And if you take away anything from this column, beware of falling Lean Pockets.
Mary's column runs bi-weekly on Wednesdays. She can be reached at mbaroch@cavalierdaily.com.
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