TEEN CENTER :: COLLEGE CENTER

FRESHMAN JOURNAL: NOVEMBER 28, 2005
Tailgating and Turkeys

By Julia Choe

Ah, Thanksgiving. The time of year devoted to family, friends, and now, football. Last weekend was my first experience of the greatness that is college football rivalry. To experience this time-honored tradition, I made the trek over to our school's counterpart, Yale, located in a not-so-beautiful part of Connecticut. While I had never before understood what could convince a mass of people to cheer hysterically in the freezing cold every year, I have come to the conclusion that it is definitely not the football. It is the tailgating. I had always conceptualized tailgating as people eating hotdogs out of the back of a van, so I was hardly prepared for the enormous grassy field I saw crawling with people, drinks, and food. I think the word "tailgating" is inadequate-a more accurate term might be "all-day party beginning at 10 AM." As far as football rivalries run, the Harvard-Yale one is supposedly fairly deep, but that's all just a sham. If we had lost the game (which was not the case), I doubt that many people would have cared. Football games are simply a great excuse for people to bring out craziness that is concealed during the week by papers and mid-terms. It becomes socially acceptable to dance crazily, scream out random insults to the opposing side, and become fantastically and completely inebriated. It's a chance, in essence, to turn an empty grass field into a massive party. It's a perfect tradition for college students, and, judging by the looks of some of the alumni, the fun doesn't end even well after graduation.

Soon after this newly experienced tradition, I returned home for Thanksgiving. The most I can say about the trip is that it felt completely normal, and completely opposite of the wildness of the previous weekend. We had stuffing, mashed potatoes, and an enormous turkey-all the elements necessary for a successfully filling Thanksgiving dinner with the family. At the same time, however, being home was odd. Going home has two different meanings now. There is the home of my brick dorm, and then there is home in sunny California. As time goes on, the previous definition has become the accepted definition, and it is necessary to clarify when I'm talking about my California home, as opposed to my Cambridge one. Questions like "Where are you from?" have two answers, none more correct than the other. Who I am and where I'm from are no longer constant. Every day, my identity as defined by my surrounding seems to change. And every day, I become more and more attached to my college self, and my previous home becomes farther away.

In many ways, I have two of everything: two homes, two sets of friends, and now, two sets of traditions. Traditions to me are a signal of identity, because they imply continuity and a past. As the traditions of school such as bowl football become more entrenched in my own self, I feel that I define myself more as a person who lives in Cambridge and who was born in California, rather than a person who lives in California and goes to school in Cambridge. This Thanksgiving, traditions have changed and are starting anew. Though I will never let go of my attachment to home and family, I am beginning to become accustomed to reciting my new address and using Boston lingo like "wicked." And flying back to campus, I feel that I am both leaving and coming back to my real life. Walking up the historic staircases into my dorm's common room, I can give a sigh of relief. It's nice to be home.