Graduating from Bridgewater-Raritan High School East makes me feel like a quiet pond inside. The rush and bother of four years of dodge-ball in gym class, finding out that I don't fit in more cliqués than I knew existed, Dungeons and Dragons, prowling through the library, creating toxic fumes (accidentally) in Chemistry class, bicycle racing, and clawing my way through the rites of passage of American high school puberty seem to be past me, all in a rush.

My 5-by-7-inch diploma rests by my bed, a coupon certifying passage through a landscape of mind-numbing assignments inflicted by uninspired teachers. Only the rarest few, the mindful educators, stand out.

The fall of this last year I spent deciding which colleges to apply to. High school has been four years of not doing homework (and getting the appropriate middling grades). Classes I enjoyed were the ones I did well in, by remembering the lectures. Chemistry, biology, physics, American history, electronics, architectural drafting, cooking, sewing, and typing have been my favorites. Instead of studying I've read almost every book in our high school library, run the New York City Marathon three times without registering for it, put in my time with the high school bicycle racing and cross-country teams, worked on the yearbook photography staff, gone to "Hebrew School" twice a week after school, skied almost every weekend with my parents or the Bridgewater "Olympic" Ski Club, and spent time with friends.

The town I've live in through junior high school and high school, Bridgewater, New Jersey, somewhat affectionately known as "Bilgewater," is too spread out to go on foot. The pinnacle of most high school careers is getting the driving permit on the seventeenthe birthday; I make do with my bicycle. (I don't want to be stuck driving my younger sister, Felicia, about.) In the mornings four or five of us will race to school in a single file, just like we've seen professionals do.

I guess my first venture into the "real" world was enlisting in the U.S. Army Reserves this year. Because I was only seventeen, Mom and Dad had to co-sign for me. I spent last summer, the summer between my junior and senior years of high school, at Basic Training in Fort Leonard Wood, Missouri. That's a story in itself.

In previous vacations, summer and winter, I've traveled with my family to Germany, Holland, the Canary Islands, Spain, Israel, and, closer to home, Canada.

Unlike many of my classmates, I have no idea at all where I want to go to school. I'm using a computerized collegiate database to narrow my choices by specifying the region (northeast USA), location (near a large city), and major (a science). The universities that I've finally applied to, in order of competitiveness, are: Columbia University (New York City), Boston University (Boston), Illinois Institute of Technology (Chicago), Rutger's University (New Jersey), and a "safety school", Northeastern University (Boston). All but Columbia have accepted me outright; Columbia put me onto a waiting list, mut never let me know one way or another. [Readers may note that I'm speaking about using a computerized database in 1980-81! This was a novelty almost unheard of elsewhere. We had access to a timesharing system via a Korea-war surplus Teletype model 33 over a 110 baud "acoustic coupler."]

Mom and Dad have expressed little interest in my choice of school, other than I shouldn't be too far from home. I've accepted Boston University sight-unseen because Boston is alluring, maybe because I don't know a thing about it. I hope that I don't regret it. Summer Orientation is in a few weeks, I'll see the school and city for the first time. I'm both excited and nervous.

Boston University Summer Orientation

We spend most of our weekend in Warren Towers: a three-tower behemoth built from blueprints for a prison. It's a small city of 1,200 students, cozy in a self-contained way. B.U. President John Silber spoke to us today. I remember him saying "look at the person on your left and right. Two of you aren't going to make it to graduation." I didn't think this school was so hard, but perhaps he knows better. I make an appointment with the woman to my left to explore the campus later in the day, after we finish our class schedules.