This past weekend one of my best friends from home came to visit. She goes to a particular school that shall not be named but may or may not reside in upstate New York, enroll approximately 15,000 students and start with a B. There, I’ve said too much. Usually the only thing she and I can commiserate about is the atrocious weather, but this weekend was different, she was finally coming to visit…
I think the first thing that surprised her was Clinton itself. And by Clinton, I mean the distinct lack of hustle and bustle. She was taken by the quaintness of it; it reminded her of our own hometown, but certainly not the city in which her college resides. As we drove up the hill, I saw her eyes widen as she took in the first sights on our campus. Yes, we all complain once and a while, but there is no denying that Hamilton is beautiful. There really is something special about the beautiful stone buildings and the majesty of the chapel. Even on a dreary day, like it was when I picked her up, she was taken aback by beauty of Hamilton, and seeing it through her eyes for the first time made me appreciate my school as well.
Later on, my friend and I were getting ready in my room with a bunch of my girlfriends. We were all chitchatting— mainly about boys (duh). In the middle of our conversation she piped in, “I can’t believe you guys know the names of the guys with who you’ve hooked up!” There was a brief pause in the room—we were all slightly stunned. “Yeah, “ she continued, “I mean, I can hookup with a guy, not know his name, and never see him again.” We all immediately burst into laughter.
“At this school,” I explained, “that’s just not an option!” We went on to tell her all of our awkward encounters and Martin’s Way stare-offs with ex-hookups. At Hamilton, that is just something that we learn to deal with. Sure, it’s never pleasant but we accept it. The idea of not knowing the name of a guy who I have hooked up with scares me. And even if I didn’t know his name, someone else close to me would certainly know his name (and probably his life story too). The size of this school may seem to be a burden when all you are trying to do is walk to class and you see everyone who know on the bridge, but it is also comforting and neat to know that everyone here is somehow connected.
We all knew what signed up for coming to Hamilton: the small community, the long winters and the isolation. But combined, all of these, at times onerous, attributes make Hamilton the school I love and the place where I could never imagine being anywhere else.