The Way We Were

My sorority sisters and I at our annual ball

(soundtrack - Dwele "Subject"/ Digable Planets "Pacifics")

So, like Outkast says in "SpottieOttieDopaliscious", "It's only 'bout 4 a.m." but this chica's not tired yet. I'm supposed to be finishing reading this 500-page book for an assignment, but my attention span is that of a fruit fly on red koolaid and crizzack. Yeah...it's like that. Like Dwele, "all I ever needed was a subject" to get these fingers typing. Turns out I have one.

I miss college y'all (sniffle).

Is there anyone who feels like it was the bright light of young adulthood that we, in our pursuit of grad school, careers and the stuff of life, now move rapidly away from? Onward we march down the abyss of never ending adulthood and a lifetime of taxes. Sigh.

Those four years, as much as I complained about how racist my school was (that's for a whole other blog), were the best. When else can you hit up the cafeteria on Saturday afternoons in pajama bottoms and Adidas slides? ...Shoot, even ashy feet (benefit of going to a white school). Though, my devotion to my momma's home training never did let me feel right about doing that. So, I didn't. But it was just about the idea that you could. That's freedom. Screw equal pay. Freedom is sporting ashy feet outside your dorm room and not caring...Somebody get Jesse on speaker phone. We're about to revamp our policy goals a bit.

The other things I miss, with five years of perspective, seem just as important. Random chats until 5 a.m. on our "life strategies" with my roomies N.G. and L.F. senior year. "Study" sessions that segueway into signifying marathons. And, If I was really black, I guess I'd miss all-night spades and dominos tourneys too, but those skills didn't come with my melanin package. Jumping double dutch either. Argh... Maybe I should have upgraded to African American 8.0?

I miss freshman year when Maya Angelou gave our riveting convocation speech (peppered with her singing "I'm on my journey now" in her moving contralto). I stayed afterwards to meet her. She told me I had a beautiful spirit. What an honor.

I miss "borrowing" printer paper from the computer labs and using as our justification the same refrain that all black "blue devils" used. "$30,000???!! I dare someone to tell me I can't." I loved that. Negroes have spunk. LOL

Then, there were the omnipresent house parties hosted by whatever three students (i.e. Kappas) decided to convert their Central campus apartments for weekend revelry. Much as I was predisposed for a lively party stroll to Mystikal's "Danger" or Outkast's live "So fresh and so clane clane!", or even bobbing to the infectious beat of D.C. gogo music (ask me about this on the record and I'll neither confirm nor deny). To my credit, I never did dabble in that shady "Nupe juice" in the punch bowl, though. Nope. My parents did raiseth not a fool.

I miss smirking as black student alliance meetings would turn into sermons on the mount, with people speechifying about "the man". Many of these same students would almost need to stop the meetings early to ask, "Is that the alarm to my Lexus jeep going off in the parking lot?" The revolution, apparently, though not televised, had all-wheel drive and power steering. LOL

I miss the floral scent of North Carolina springs. Packed-in-car group trips to Wal-Mart. Learning how to perm my own hair without putting my eye out. Learning to depend on friends like family. Gospel choir rehearsals. That one choir tour where we traversed the East Coast in what seemed to be the Rosa Parks original bus. Working in a sorority. Becoming a writer. Firsts. Like interviewing Tommie Smith (1968 Olympic gold medalist who got his medal snatched for his black power stance on the medal podium) for our student paper. After I spoke with him that February in 2000, he gave me a signed photo with these words: "Time is Now".

Mr. Smith was right. It is. Still, it's nice to look back.

Because four years are forever.