BY ALEX GINSBERG

In print | Published April 21, 2005

The end of April is upon us, and before long the school year will be over. Many will travel home, rejoicing in the godsend that is summer break, only to be utterly bored within two weeks by the lack of intellectual stimulation. Others spend the summer months living here at Swarthmore or traveling abroad or interning. Chances are that by the fall most of us will be eager to return to Swat. But what of those who don’t have that option? After May 29, the current seniors can never again long for a summer to end and a Swarthmore semester to begin.

And thus the salad days end for some of my best friends. I can barely imagine the feelings that come with commencement. My only comparable experience is high school graduation, which — I think — does not compare at all. With my lack of analogous understanding to draw upon, I thought it inappropriate to give any sententious advice to the seniors; however, in my last column I wanted to pay some kind of tribute to the old fogies that I look up to. After pondering the similarities between first-years and seniors, I found only one. Though the seniors would like to believe that they have nothing in common with the lowly froshies, there is something: The amphitheater.

I was once told that the amphitheater is the place where a class sits together for the first and last times at Swarthmore. Deciding to sleep in the amphitheater was not easy. It was quite cold on Thursday night, but my will is strong and my roommate had an extra sleeping bag.

My stay in the amphitheater was not marked by the usual sleep-out adventures. Public Safety did not chase me down; Environmental Services did not wake me up. In fact, my night was not at all exciting. The only reason I slept in the amphitheater was to make a metaphorical comparison of time at Swarthmore, but that didn’t work out so well either.

I am not afraid of the dark, although I used to be — not the dark itself, but the strangers lurking in the dark. This night, though, I was intimidated. Perhaps my fear of the Willets Cat was augmented by the noises of the Crum Woods and the shadows cast by trees and rocks. What specifically caused my anxiety is not important. Rather, entering the amphitheater, and the disquiet that came with it, compares with the beginning of my time here at Swarthmore.

The actual act of sleeping in the amphitheater was not as bad as one might expect. The ground was at least as comfortable as the chair-table bed that I constructed in the Science Center. My only complaint is that the wind made lots of noise as it went through the trees, but I guess that wasn’t a problem once I nodded off.

In the morning I rose with the dawn, and then I fell back to sleep. When I finally woke up to the sound of my cell phone alarm, I cursed the morning for coming so fast. And, as I left the amphitheater, I wished for a little more time to sleep.

Maybe that’s the way the end of college will be like. Maybe it’s like arising from a nap, still tired but unable to sleep any longer due to the call of worldly obligations. I’m still not sure if I have any experience that allows me to make that assumption, and probably my assessment is a pleasant understatement. Whatever the case, sleeping in the amphitheater is not much of a tribute to the seniors. Just as nothing can compare to college commencement, there is no analogy that can accurately represent a year with the seniors. What could ever measure up to the nut-tapping games, the Philadelphia dinner trips, the column-on-column battles and all the other good times? Nothing.

Thank you for a crazy/fun/silly/interesting/enlightening/shit-faced year. You’ve shown us the ropes, and we will miss you – except for Jon Fombonne and Emiliano Rodriguez, who suck.

Alex is a first-year. You can reach him at aginsbe1@swarthmore.edu.

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