In 13 short days, this campus — which has, for most of the summer months, been a ghost town — will once again be brought to life by the beginning of another school year.
Professors will return to their classrooms and offices. Staff members will begin their work in places such as dining halls and libraries. And students — the largest and most rowdy population in this town — will fill the dorms, quads and bars and restaurants on the Route 1 strip. It is, to be sure, a wonderful time of year.
Yet, for the first time in four years, I won’t be participating in any of the activities that will accompany the start of the school year at this university. Indeed, I won’t be participating in any university- or school-related activities during the entirety of the 2011-12 academic year. Instead, as a member of this institution’s class of 2011, it seems as though my 16-year stint as a student has come to a close, and I will — at least for now — be forsaking College Park and joining the “real world.”
And while this progression from college student to entry-level white-collar worker is one that is certainly not unexpected — after all, it is what society demands from the children of middle- and upper-middle class parents — the transition has taken some getting used to. As I prepare for the world of work that lies ahead of me, I can’t help but feel nostalgic about the time I spent as a student at this university.
And why shouldn’t I? College, as anyone who has thought critically about the experience knows, is a place unlike any other.
Much of that is because we, as students, occupy a position of extreme privilege.
Whether it be through loans or hard work (ours or our parents), those of us enrolled in any institution of higher education have enough money to to afford to spend about four years with few responsibilities other than thinking, learning and developing as intellectual, social and well-rounded human beings. Rather than working a 40-hour week, the majority of students are given the opportunity to spend that time attending class, participating in extracurricular activities and socializing with different and unique groups of people.
At least that is what it is what we are supposed to be doing.
The reality, it seems, is very different. Instead of attending our classes, many of us skip them. Rather than challenging ourselves — both intellectually and socially — a majority of us aim to do the least amount of work possible. And in lieu of engaging with diverse groups of people, far too many of us stick to interacting with people we know and who are familiar to us. Lost, it seems, is the idea of balance (the clichéd “work hard, party hard” concept comes to mind) and the notion that the four years we spend in college are supposed to be anything more than a giant party for and about us.
And while that may be all well and good for some, the fact is that, as college students, we have a broader responsibility, one that transcends the obligations we have to ourselves as students and to our parents as those footing the bill for our college experiences.
Although we may have gone to college for purely selfish reasons — to get a better job, for example — as members of a select and privileged class we should never forget that we have been given an amazing opportunity, one that, if we put in the effort, will not only transform our own lives but could also possibly transform the lives of millions of other people.
A college education is a precious thing. Indeed, in this country only 27.5 percent of the population 25 years or older possesses a bachelor’s degree. And when one looks at the world at large, that number shrinks to an even more depressing 6.7 percent. And so, to those of you who are lucky enough to be continuing at this university, I urge you not to squander the opportunity you have been given. Have fun, but never forget the privileged position you occupy and the responsibilities that come with it.
Kevin Tervala graduated in May with degrees in art history and history. He can be reached at ktervala at umdbk dot com.
