Old Schools and Rainbows
Friday morning I was waiting for the bus to work with my black shoulder bag as well as a tote bag filled with reading I'd brought home the night before (a new tradition in my life, I'm afraid). The tote, a freebie from my college reunion three years ago, is emblazoned with my alma mater's name.
As I was getting on the bus, a young woman falling into line behind me said, "Did you go to H?" -- referring to the college. I said yes; she said she did too.
She looked to be no more than 30, so I said, "I'm sure I went there a long time before you did."
She said, "I was '97." (Just about right.)
I told her I was '83 -- I like to imagine she was thinking, "Oh, my God, you don't look anywhere near that old!" -- and asked if she had liked the college. She had. I said, "Yeah, it's a great school."
As I paid my fare, I had a split second to decide whether I would continue the conversation on the bus. I'd taken my earphones out to chat with her. Would it be rude to put them back in?
I put the earphones back in and walked to the back of the bus as she sat down in front; she had a bulky suitcase.
For the rest of the ride I tortured myself for not having been friendly enough to continue the conversation: "What dorm did you live in? What was your major?" It felt so heartless, but I just wasn't in the mood.
As fond as I am of my college, there's a type of fellow alum who gets on my nerves (and I'm not saying this young woman, who seemed perfectly lovely, was that person). It's the one who writes into the college alumni news inviting any and all random alums to look him up: "My wife and I just moved to Anchorage, Alaska. Any H'ers are welcome to pay a visit when in the area!"
This type of alum is very common where I went to school. It seems every other blurb in the class news is an invitation to H'ers to drop by and visit others who share the same diploma.
I cannot imagine calling a complete stranger who happened to go to the same college I did 20 years before or after me and arranging to get together for drinks. What in the world would we talk about? I know: the dorms we lived in and what our majors were.
Strangely enough, I actually do feel a bond with my fellow H graduates. I think it's cool when I see someone wearing an H t-shirt or if I read in the paper that an author or actor went there. I feel really happy when I see an H sticker on a car window. I even had such a sticker on the rear window of my first car 20-odd years ago -- and I am not a school-colors kind of guy; I kept a very low profile in college and was involved in few "schooly" activities. But I loved that sticker.
I have a similarly paradoxical relationship to rainbow bumper stickers -- just about the only manifestation of the gay rainbow symbol that I like; I've even caught myself thinking, when seeing a natural rainbow in the sky: How cheesy.
But when I pass a car with a rainbow sticker, I feel buoyed. I speed up and try to get a peek at the fellow Gay who is driving. (Is he cute? Is he . . . oh, it's a she. Cheers anyway!)
I had a rainbow sticker on the rear bumper of my second car. I sold the car to a straight woman I worked with, and she told me when she bought it that she was a lot more embarrassed to have a WHFS sticker on the bumper (which there was) than a rainbow sticker. (This was in the mid-'90s, when that alternative Washington radio station had begun its slide into unlistenable "modern rock." )
The next time I saw the car, both stickers were gone. And I felt a little sad.
As I was getting on the bus, a young woman falling into line behind me said, "Did you go to H?" -- referring to the college. I said yes; she said she did too.
She looked to be no more than 30, so I said, "I'm sure I went there a long time before you did."
She said, "I was '97." (Just about right.)
I told her I was '83 -- I like to imagine she was thinking, "Oh, my God, you don't look anywhere near that old!" -- and asked if she had liked the college. She had. I said, "Yeah, it's a great school."
As I paid my fare, I had a split second to decide whether I would continue the conversation on the bus. I'd taken my earphones out to chat with her. Would it be rude to put them back in?
I put the earphones back in and walked to the back of the bus as she sat down in front; she had a bulky suitcase.
For the rest of the ride I tortured myself for not having been friendly enough to continue the conversation: "What dorm did you live in? What was your major?" It felt so heartless, but I just wasn't in the mood.
As fond as I am of my college, there's a type of fellow alum who gets on my nerves (and I'm not saying this young woman, who seemed perfectly lovely, was that person). It's the one who writes into the college alumni news inviting any and all random alums to look him up: "My wife and I just moved to Anchorage, Alaska. Any H'ers are welcome to pay a visit when in the area!"
This type of alum is very common where I went to school. It seems every other blurb in the class news is an invitation to H'ers to drop by and visit others who share the same diploma.
I cannot imagine calling a complete stranger who happened to go to the same college I did 20 years before or after me and arranging to get together for drinks. What in the world would we talk about? I know: the dorms we lived in and what our majors were.
Strangely enough, I actually do feel a bond with my fellow H graduates. I think it's cool when I see someone wearing an H t-shirt or if I read in the paper that an author or actor went there. I feel really happy when I see an H sticker on a car window. I even had such a sticker on the rear window of my first car 20-odd years ago -- and I am not a school-colors kind of guy; I kept a very low profile in college and was involved in few "schooly" activities. But I loved that sticker.
I have a similarly paradoxical relationship to rainbow bumper stickers -- just about the only manifestation of the gay rainbow symbol that I like; I've even caught myself thinking, when seeing a natural rainbow in the sky: How cheesy.
But when I pass a car with a rainbow sticker, I feel buoyed. I speed up and try to get a peek at the fellow Gay who is driving. (Is he cute? Is he . . . oh, it's a she. Cheers anyway!)
I had a rainbow sticker on the rear bumper of my second car. I sold the car to a straight woman I worked with, and she told me when she bought it that she was a lot more embarrassed to have a WHFS sticker on the bumper (which there was) than a rainbow sticker. (This was in the mid-'90s, when that alternative Washington radio station had begun its slide into unlistenable "modern rock." )
The next time I saw the car, both stickers were gone. And I felt a little sad.
posted by Billy at 12:30 AM
2 Comments:
Harvard? Hoffstra? Halliburton University?
I wonder if every gay person does the same thing when they see a rainbow on another car?
I remember riding with my brother once and seeing the leather flag and almost saying "speed up, let's see what the leather daddy looks like," but quickly realized that would open up a whole 'nother can of worms that I didn't want to deal with.
i sometimes see a sticker from my (undergrad) alma mater on a car and my reaction is usually to cringe (more mental than actual) :) if it's from the grad school i attended (art school), i think warm fuzzy thoughts because i assume they're arty sorts.
as for the rainbow, it usually elicits a vague sense of unity. i find it comforting that "we" are not alone; although like your comment about the school affiliation, that alone doesn't mean i'd want to meet the rainbow bearer. i think instead of toni morrison's essay, unspeakable things unspoken...only it's more like making the invisible visible.
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