forite tilling track De emental nining. nooks spotting m the worship com- fCC
t anylenge rock.
speak
Brower
watch death from the Will Fol-o-The Ben a lover
ighout album, or Cutie memo-memo-sure to of their should Jason excellent with his driving pointment a corny, been left
e able to store, so
is Brower
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9
What college did to my ears
My childhood was noisy. Oh sure, age 9 on babysitting four or five children some memories smell like cookies or more if the neighbors came over —
are bathed in the soft glow of Christmas lights. But they are, above all, loud.
Loud noise accompanied everything from grade school mornings to hysteric Christmas Eves: great, thrashing chords from the piano, children wailing about wasp stings or unshared toys and feet always running, running, running above my basement bedroom.
so my mother could dash out for an hour and buy us formula, vegetables and cough medicine.The noises of these mornings were the clatter of spoons in cereal bowls,the sobbing of an awakened baby in a crib,the nasty yelling of a big sister who was spoiled enough to wonder why she couldn't live in a clean, quiet house and have American Eagle clothes like her friends
- always with tiny feet running and running in the background.
I'm the oldest of six kids. Yes, six. And yes, we're Catholic. And yes, my parents are saints. Four girls, two boys, two houses and $200,000 in groceries in 11 years.
I spent every summer morning from
Natalie Johnson Jayplay writer
Our dinners included a ritual puking noise for two years. My reckless toddler brother Sam would shove so much food in his mouth so fast that each night,
Mealtimes were different. No more grace before, no more whining about doing the dishes after. Just teenager chat, replete with the f-word and drinking stories.
somewhere between grace and the first "somebody go get more milk," he would start choking and vomiting. The sound was alarming at first, but eventually became background noise like the piano and the footsteps. We'd all eat calmly, discussing Girl Scouts or spelling tests, as Sam retched. Then Mom would clean off him and his tray, and it was time for dessert.
When I went off to college, I was shocked by the lack of noise, or at least the difference in noise. Weekend mornings in the dorms were eerily quiet. No more footsteps, piano or goofy cartoon sound effects.
It was weird that the fights I heard weren't about who took the last brownie or cleared the table, but rather about who slept with whom or how people changed when they drank too much.
But I loved it! Now I could sleep in on weekends without those pesky kids bothering me. I could have a phone
conversation without locking myself in the laundry room and sitting on a pile of (Clean? Maybe.) laundry. I could cuss and whine and take midafternoon naps.
My first visits home freshman year, I got irritated within 15 minutes. I'd pull in the driveway and immediately be tackled by several kids, thrilled to see me. I'd smile and kiss my mom and do my best to listen to the kids' stories about school, softball, play outouts, Star Wars and someone's scary dream. I would be tugged in different directions to see someone's new bedroom arrangement, drawing or gymnastics stunt. Minutes later, I would hiss that I hated the way they interrupted all the time. Couldn't they learn some manners?
But as years have passed and I've become accustomed to the noises of college life, the sounds of home have become precious. The hushed library and the afternoon naps now seem indulgent and lonely, and "inside voice" undergrad conversations lack innocence. I crave exclamations and innocent questions.
I gleefully anticipate the driveway tackle (only one or two do it now). I love to listen to every detail about the spring musical, the band rehearsal and the unfairness of seventh grade teachers. I love going to football games and gymnastics classes. I love hearing my brother croon Beatles songs awkwardly on the guitar he's learning to play. I love that our uber-sensitive smoke detector blares every time we open the oven. I love hearing my brothers discuss school and football stats late into the night in their room down the hall. I love that my sisters sing along to rap songs, and that I constantly nag at them to listen to something better. I love hearing them randomly belt out a few measures of a Broadway show tune to make up for it.
The sounds of home are comforting and familiar, a nice wholesome respite from the sounds of college.
And they're blessedly loud.
11. 03.05 Jayplay 10