Within the first weeks of school,

after the initial buzz of the new school

year, everyone pretends to be excited at

entering yet another year of drudgery

and to care about what you did this

summer. We make a futile attempt to

create a forcefield to protect ourselves

from becoming like the trees outside––

lifeless, plain, and indistinguishable from

one another. Then comes another wave

of excitement to sweep away much of the student body. Homecoming. A time in which we are reminded not to grind, even though any keen observer of feisty young lads knows that participation in such acts is the  main attraction. An occasion that allows you to feel original and quirky for wearing the same costume dress-up as everyone else. A time where we as students are expected to have our blood boil over at the name of another suburban metro city, a sentiment that will forever be preserved on tee-shirts with a slogan that is trying way too hard to be catchy. These events are expected to be the pinnacle of the years that adults tell us are going to be “the highlight of our lives.” Surely this is true for many. But me? Last year they replaced the bench I was eating at with a table to buy tickets.

The excitement of football games and school dances are lost on me. But like those who eagerly await Homecoming, I too feel the same allure of coming back to school. While many prefer the thrill and excitement of school events, I will await the serendipity of finding of an uneaten poptart in a urinal.