1994

Over the last four years, I lost track of time.

I think my head was so knee deep in data and academia that I failed to see that I have become even older than I realized. What incited this reflection? Last night's class. At one point I made a reference to my freshmen about the 1980s and I received that strange stare that undergraduates give when they think they are supposed to know something, but have no clue what I'm talking about. It triggered me to ask them what year they were born. The year was 1994. It threw me upside down. When did kids stop becoming 80s babies? Well, I guess in the 90s. These kids are entering college. Oi Vay.

The year this freshmen class entered the world I was exiting my four years at Binghamaling and had already walked beyond high school with four years behind me. My buddies, in college, including Matt, Craig and Andy, made a pledge to drink beer as much as we could and to frequent The Pine Lounge frequently to consume pitchers of Genessee Cream Ale (so cheap) and throw quarters into the pinball machine. I wore flannels, tie dyes and overalls, and  stopped cutting my hair (Perhaps it was Kurt Cobain's influence or the lead singer of Blind Melon). It was my last year as an English major and I spent time interning at Binghamton High School and learning the academic life with the mentoring of Dr. Leslie Heywood. I was clueless, but full of energy.

I ventured to the Bluegrass State to earn my first Masters degree and discovered life as a graduate student in Louisville, eventually finding an apartment by the campus. I drove Joan Popper, my Toyota Tercel Blues Traveller, and wrote my friends from college voraciously (snail mail), especially those I met in London (Around this time, Matt asked me if I had email and I had never heard of it). It was a year where Tonya Harding had Nancy Kerrigan attacked at the Figure Skating championship, Serbia continued to bomb Bosnia, OJ Simpson fled in his Bronco, the United Nations pulled out of Somalia  because of its violence, and the Shawshank Redemption debuted. Sheryl Crow sang, "All I Wanna Do Is Have Some Fun," and the Jerry Springer;s show took off in the realm of "reality" television. If I recall, it was also the end of  Beverly Hills 90210 and the preppy legacy they left for my generation of college students. Lena, Rebecca, and I had parties, too, on Wednesday evenings as we watched the show. That was yesterday, no?

Seriously?

My freshmen are where I was, EEKs, 23 years ago when Kirsten and I headed out of Cherry Heights together on our own. Suddenly The Big Chill makes total sense, American Beauty has a new interpretation, Reality Bites is sadder than I remember it, and St. Elmo's Fire is a fantasy. Time is its own revenge, and how precious those moments of 1994 were - the year these kids were born.