and Words
Babe, tomorrow’s so far away
There’s something I just have to say
I don’t think I could hide what I’m feelin’ inside
Another day, knowin’ I love you
And I, I’m getting too close again
I don’t wanna see it end
If I tell you tonight, would you turn out the lights
And walk away knowin’ I love you?
Lyric excerpts from Musixmatch.
On a fall weekend morning in 1986, I pack my 1966 Mustang, my new-for-me car to the brim, but it still couldn’t contain all the things I needed. My family, my mom and sisters, packed the remainder of my belongings. Next, we embarked on a nearly hour-long trip down the coast to Coral Gables. I drove south on I-95, the familiar freeway that travels all the way up the East Coast, down to where it ends; it empties onto US-1. Finally, we arrive at our destination, a couple of blocks off US-1. I pull into the unfamiliar parking lot, lock the car, and walk to the front desk of Pearson Hall.
The desk bustled with chaotic activity; to this day, I don’t know how I got situated. I gave them my name and it started from there. The young people, likely other students, simply cross-referenced me in lists on clipboards. They efficiently found my dorm room, handed me a key, and gave me directions. My dorm room was in the 1R wing; it sat between the ground floor and the second floor, up half a flight of stairs.
Continue reading “The chaotic beginnings of higher education”