I call it "linguistic naturalization."
When I returned home after my whirlwind introduction to higher academia as a first-year student, I realized that many components of the lifestyle I took two semesters to familiarize myself with dissolved. More so than the practices of spending all night in the library or waiting four weeks to do a much needed load of laundry, the manner in which I spoke suddenly seemed out of place.
Certain snippets of college lingo simply had to go. Conversations either held no meaning to some other chump with his or her inferior college experience to relive or they were incomprehensible to someone who simply had no clue what I was talking about. After all, it really is hard to put into words the sheer volume of seersucker pants seen at Foxfield.
After a month of neighbors and relatives desiring a recap of my first year of college at the University of Virginia, I have trimmed the specifics as much as possible and have minimized my experience to an art of summarization. Despite practically bleeding blue and orange I grew weary of justifying our incredible university to someone who will never appreciate it like we do. And if I have to endure being asked about my "freshman year" for much longer, I might just explode.
Jeffersonian jargon
To avoid making an obvious point, I won't go into detail about our phrases. It is honorable that we carry on traditions implemented by Jefferson himself. First years have and always will experience a sensational exclusivity when they correct their parents and friends for the first time. I know I did.
Similar to abandoning common college phrases, I discovered that we also abandon common architectural plans as well. Every college has its own distinct center of student congregation. At each, any innocent bystander may observe universal traits of student life -- young love, fervent study and the ubiquitous Frisbee toss; however, few students can say they idly toss around frisbees at the foot of a historic monument. Lounging on the cornerstone of a Founding Father's achievement is not our only rare privilege as we also take up residence at one of the most charming locations I've ever seen.
So this is why I never speak about the Rotunda unless spoken to about the Rotunda. How does one talk about our school's amazing assets by calling them "Grounds" without sounding like a blatant snob? Sure, I'd love to proudly gush about the first evening stroll I took and the Bocce ball I tossed on the Lawn, but my overwhelming pride only seems to irritate someone else whose school isn't as prestigiously qualified.
The Rotunda, in all of its rich history and glory, sadly boils down to "a cool place at our school" in polite, tolerable conversations. It kills me.
Something old, something new
Every college dorm known to man has the same odor coming from the boys' hall, the same cutesy signs on the girls' doors, and the same acts of "sexilement." Yet it is only at the University that you find two separate worlds in the form of McCormick and Alderman Road.
Only a fellow U.Va. student can know the trials and tribulations that come from assignment to either place. Sure, McCormick is practically light-years closer to Central Grounds, but the rooms are so small you might not be able to wedge yourself out. Alderman may boast tighter circles of communities with suites and rooms large enough to accommodate human decency, yet one is far from university activity and still without an air conditioner. As for the residents of the notoriously cushy Woody and Cauthen dorms... Well, karma has funny ways of working.
Despite the unique nuances and reputations each dorm acquires, it is meaningless to anyone outside the University community. It's hard enough to get my aunts and uncles to remember I go to the University of Virginia and not "that school in Virginia." Now, I simply acknowledge the yearlong bliss of rolling out of bed right before class (thank you to the dorm gods for putting me in Hancock, by the way) with a "Why yes, I did live in a dorm."
Newcomb or O-Hill, that is the question
Books could be written about the complexity of the University's dining hall area, the range in quality of our copious selections and the social habits observed at and around the tables. Since I have reduced my explanations of the Wahoo eating experience to "really good food," however, I really shouldn't be the one to write it.
Who else but fellow Wahoos can appreciate the sheer tenacity it takes to brave the crowds at O-Hill after one of Elzinga's 500-seat lectures or following a football game when everyone around you is still drunk?
Ice cream is ice cream to everyone, but only to a fellow University student does ice milk hold any sentimental meaning. My own mother now regards me with contempt when I require her to put all of her omelet ingredients in little bowls to the left of the stove and douse them with salsa after she is done.
Don't misread me. Coming home has, in short, been glorious. Air conditioning, full pantries, old friends, queen sized beds, an accessible car... the list continues on. But at the same time I could go on and on about the things that make our school the best one in the state, possibly until it is time to move right on back to Charlottesville.
Returning home separated me from the enriched atmosphere of the University that I have come to know and love. My detachment has only made me recognize how distinguished we are as students and how lucky we are to have these surroundings to further our academic endeavors. I can't wait to observe the first-year students in their intimidated, awkward and over enthusiastic stages next semester, because I know we all went through the same transition.
As the crow flies we have about two months of vacation left. Yet I can't help but look at my calendar toward the big Rotunda drawn on August 25th and long for my "normal" life to begin once again.
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