A Visit to my Freshman Dorm Room

Here’s picture proof that something can be both obnoxiously disgraceful and spiritually uplifting at the same time.

Trolling through Harvard Yard before I speak to the Harvard Hillel at 5:30 PM this afternoon about “The Liberal Case for Israel” —  Join us 52 Mount Auburn Street if you are in the area — I noticed the door open to my old freshman dorm room.  After begging the unfortunate current teen resident to let this old codger in, I noticed that the Springsteen poster, rows of beer cans and “couch of death” (don’t ask) from 1985-86 were no longer wreaking sensory havoc.

Instead, it was sort of a spiritual journey.  This was the room where I finally gained my independence, made lifetime friends, and began a whole new life’s chapter.  Too many memories — mostly great, some tragically embarrassing — flashed back in an instant.  And when I snapped the picture above, I realized I was capturing the very spot at which I first professed my crush (telephonically, and a bit intoxicated of course) to my now wife of 23 years.

I cherish my college years, but the first will always be the most special.  And my freshman dorm room will always occupy a very, very important place in my deeply nostalgic heart.

So, thanks to the guys of Holworthy Hall for letting me be a little creepy.  Hopefully, it will embolden you to embarrass the next generation of freshman when you too get to middle age.