2008 Woodie Awards
Home may never change - but your perspective may
Brittany Fiorenza
Issue date: 11/30/06 Section: Features
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My Thanksgiving vacation was as I expected it to be for the most part. After weaving through impatient commuters in Grand Central Station, holding onto the poles (as any sane person should do) in the underground shuttle to Penn Station, and sitting on yet another train watching concrete give way to trees, I was home.
Most of the things I had left behind to come to school were still the same. The teeny boppers were still drawn to the gaudy red paint and giant glowing "F" that is Friendly's trademark. When I reached my house, my dog threw himself against the door like he always does when he hears anyone within a 20-mile radius. Even after separating to different colleges, my best friend still knew the only way I would wake up was if consuming coffee was involved. Our town retained its small town appeal with nothing to do and nowhere to go every night we were all together. The nearby ocean my friends and I frequented was bitterly cold from the winter chill, and we still argued that Mother Nature was just too stubborn to accept that summer should be perpetual on Long Island. The island is home and it was good to be there doing the same old things with the same old people.
What is it about never having anything to do whenever we're home? Even if we all complain about there being nowhere to go, but we always, always, always, find something to do, and if nothing else, that is my favorite part of being home. Everyone at home knows that when sitting around someone's house is just too much to take, the ocean at midnight is the only place to go. Even now, we still plot to sneak out of our bedroom windows late at night. The fact that my friends and I still had the same old habits we've had for the past ten years of our lives was comforting.
However, there is an exception to every rule and some things have to change. My friend Bridget attends NYU and she came home with a British accent. That's right, NYU in New York City and Bridget with a British accent. Did she meet anyone British? No. Did she study abroad her first semester of college? No. She simply picked it up and now calls me dahling and says rather peculiar (note to self: never say "rather peculiar darling" in the same sentence). I love her to death but when I picked her up at the train station I asked her if she remembered that she grew up on Long Island or "lawn guy land." Still, to each his own, you know? I came back with a new hair cut, she came back with a new dialect, stuff happens.
Most of the things I had left behind to come to school were still the same. The teeny boppers were still drawn to the gaudy red paint and giant glowing "F" that is Friendly's trademark. When I reached my house, my dog threw himself against the door like he always does when he hears anyone within a 20-mile radius. Even after separating to different colleges, my best friend still knew the only way I would wake up was if consuming coffee was involved. Our town retained its small town appeal with nothing to do and nowhere to go every night we were all together. The nearby ocean my friends and I frequented was bitterly cold from the winter chill, and we still argued that Mother Nature was just too stubborn to accept that summer should be perpetual on Long Island. The island is home and it was good to be there doing the same old things with the same old people.
What is it about never having anything to do whenever we're home? Even if we all complain about there being nowhere to go, but we always, always, always, find something to do, and if nothing else, that is my favorite part of being home. Everyone at home knows that when sitting around someone's house is just too much to take, the ocean at midnight is the only place to go. Even now, we still plot to sneak out of our bedroom windows late at night. The fact that my friends and I still had the same old habits we've had for the past ten years of our lives was comforting.
However, there is an exception to every rule and some things have to change. My friend Bridget attends NYU and she came home with a British accent. That's right, NYU in New York City and Bridget with a British accent. Did she meet anyone British? No. Did she study abroad her first semester of college? No. She simply picked it up and now calls me dahling and says rather peculiar (note to self: never say "rather peculiar darling" in the same sentence). I love her to death but when I picked her up at the train station I asked her if she remembered that she grew up on Long Island or "lawn guy land." Still, to each his own, you know? I came back with a new hair cut, she came back with a new dialect, stuff happens.
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