Freshman Book to Aegis

Though still secure in the student womb, seniors are begining to dip their feet into "the real world." A current of looking toward the future runs through senior year. Newsletters from Career and Employment Services (CES), which used to be one step away from an empty mailbox back in the carefree days of the underclass years, we now save and even read. These letters tell us when to expect the next information session on investment banking, or who's speaking when on how to get a job in publishing. We begin to write resumes, seek recommendations, and buy three-piece suits. Then crashes the wave of corporate recruiting. The freshman book is finally waxing into the Aegis.

The song "Pea Green Freshmen," traditionally sung at Moosilauke on freshman trips, traces this journey. It begins by addressing the pea green freshmen, then the gay young sophomores, the drunken juniors, and finally the grand old seniors. During fresh man trips this fall, Viva Hardigg '84, vice president of the DOC, requested, "When you get to the part about the 'grand old seniors,' please sing slowly and with respect." Respect both for achievements and for the sheer experience of having "been through it all." We have gone the spectrum, from the Thayer meal plan to a "quick bite" at Collis or our own home cooking. We have taken the introductory and large lecture classes and now move into the realm of small seminars and independent studies. As for extra-curricular activities, we're no longer just being part of the furniture. We ascend to the levels of leadership, or at least gain some "seniority" by virtue of our class.

Seniors also become harder to find. Many of us move off campus. Grocery shopping/cooking, and paying house hold bills supplement our studying, jogging, attending meetings. We are phasing everyday chores of "real life" into the fast-paced day of a student a day that inevitably demands more than a day's worth of work. Seniors, whether on or off campus, vie for single rooms. We need our space; we're seniors now. My bureau and desk contents easily spill to floor and bed, while some of my best friends label desk drawers and store books in alphabeti cal order. We can still share a wonderful friendship, but not a room. Living habits are now so embedded that the sharing of a room seems a compromising of oneself.

Seniors plunge into their last year with two passionate, but seemingly incongruous resolutions. Each senior swears, "This year I'm really going to be disciplined and serious, settle down, work hard." Simultaneously, he or she is committed to making time for fun and socializing a kind of "last fling." Last night I was immersed in drawing up a proposal for my esoteric thesis on Camus' rejection of God. As the bells chimed eleven, I remembered my promise to my housemates: "Sure, I'll meet you at Peter Christian's for a mocha java . . . eleven? Well, that's kind of early. I'll be working on my thesis proposal, and . . . you're right, it's my senior year. See you at eleven."

Even play and antics are now tinged with seriousness. Our amusements include papering walls with "ding letters" employment rejection letters as last year's members of Casque and Gauntlet senior society did in their bathroom. No more water fights or making freshman numerals on the football field.

Senior year finally. A bit regrettably, too. Time to settle down and do some serious work finally. A bit regrettably, too. The sensation of college as a "liminal period," an in between stage, is heightened during senior year, a year of melding real world panic with childlike fun. This weekend, for instance, found many seniors taking law school and med school entrance exams most of Saturday, while still allowing time for some late afternoon football and Mary Poppins at the Hop Sunday night. We are straddling the blurred line between carefree college days and real life. Observed a friend of mine, "If college is an experience 'out of time and space,' senior year is when you notice the clock ticking." I am reminded of the closing scene of MaryPoppins: serious, stuffy bankers are out flying kites in the changing wind. Senior year is like that.