When I was in the third grade, I had my first crush on a girl in the grade above me. This young lady was no ordinary schoolboy crush, as she strikingly resembled the actress who played Winnie Cooper on “The Wonder Years.” Somehow, one of my friends convinced me that it was indeed the very same girl from everyone’s favorite television program. When I went up to her and asked (very smoothly mind you) how tall Fred Savage really was, a table of laughs and jeers met me. My friend found it pretty funny, too. He wasn’t laughing when the tires of his blue Huffy were slashed later that day. Nope, not one bit.
One would think things have changed for me by now, but they really haven’t. Just the other day I was hit with another self-esteem-shattering blow. As I sat in front of West Campus reading this very publication, a group of unruly freshman came out of the dining hall. I hadn’t showered, as it was still very early (11:30 a.m.) and my lone thought rested on a breakfast burrito. But there I sat, minding my own business, when one of them began to stare at me. I stared right back until he broke into laughter.
“Damn, y’all, doesn’t he look just like Holden?” their leader spoke.
They looked at me and laughed in unison, as I sat assuming that I closely resembled one of their friends. After accepting a few autograph requests and slapping high fives to my newfound fame, another one spoke:
“I’m sorry. We are reading this book in our English class, and you look just like what we envisioned the main character would look like. Y’ever read ‘Catcher in the Rye?'”
Holden Caulfield. They thought I looked like Holden Caulfield — arguably the biggest protagonist of American literature in the 20th century. I sat in disarray as the group walked by me. It ate at me all day. I began to reexamine the image I was projecting to the world and began to ask myself some “big questions.” I have been called some very rude things in my life, and most of them rightfully so, but I truly felt this to be unjustified. I mean, did I really give off such negative energy? Was there such a negative aura around me to classify me a cynic? No! I refused to believe so. And to make myself feel better, I made a list of small things to prove those bastards wrong — to prove that in fact there is love and goodness and smiles in my world, or else to continue to remain content in my utter and complete ignorance. This also provides ample opportunity for me to introduce to you, the reader, the type of professional journalism and thought-provoking literature you can expect from me — the acclaimed writer.
So here, in no particular order, is a list of things that make my mornings bright and put warmth in my heart: rainbows; puppy dogs; Victoria Secret; skip-resistant CD players; quarter gum balls; honesty; 5th period recess; John Silber; The Fugitive; amateur figure skating; Jehovah’s Witnesses; slush puppies; dollar drafts; watching people fall while roller-blading on Commonwealth Avenue; female joggers; Jeff Buckley; chivalry; syndicated Full House reruns; talking animals in movies; purses slung over the mid-section of women; the increased depth of field created by shadows and distinct lights; flying kites; kangaroos and koala bears; Play-Dough; vicodin; Esai Morales’ performance in LaBamba as the unappreciated, misunderstood brother Bob; The Corey Haim E!-True Hollywood Story; dropping a deposit in the bank and not needing a receipt; Thundercats paraphernalia; Booberry cereal; the unfulfilled dream of domesticating a squirrel; Sexflow2000 away messages; race cars and fierce dragons; airline trail mix; expensive, luxurious European-style hotels in the middle of Kenmore Square that none of us can afford; Bukowski; Highlight Magazine; the BU bum’s ability to gross $75,000 annually from the unsuspecting freshman class; the word “Parcheesi;” people who smoke after working out; the lost days of Pat Casey or Jesse Broder Van Dyke (R.I.P., fellas); tattoos on the lower backs of girls; my conspiracy theory that one day, I will see someone living in the Atrium walk into the Supercuts located below them from my Hamilton House suite …
But most of all, that moment when we see a person across a room, your eyes meet and there is an unspoken connection — this connection that could be made by a smile, a glance or just the presence of someone in a room with you. But at that moment, you realize that nothing in your entire world will ever be the same again. After all, “a beautiful girl can turn your world to dust.”
Cynic? Yeah right.
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