speak
CALIFORNIA LEAVIN'
WARNING
My college experience in the Golden State didn't measure up to life at KU
Until I arrived on August 12, 2005, I had never been to Kansas. I had never seen a picture of the place outside of the KU course catalog. My only frame of reference came from the movie Twister, in which an old lady living in a field had several spinning metal contraptions in her front yard to detect tornadoes, which must have roared through her property endlessly, or so I thought.
Yet here I am, 1,800 miles away from the only home I've ever known: Orange County, Calif., the land of beautiful beaches, perfect weather and not-so-realistic television shows. People often don't understand why I came to Kansas. "Why the hell did you decide to come out here?" they ask, with puzzled expressions on their faces.
Joe navigates his 1,800 mile drive from California to Kansas.
Well, this is why I came to Kansas:
I was finishing up my freshman year
at Cal State Fullerton, a commuter
college in Orange County. As one
of 800 students living on a campus
that hosted more than 35,000
people, I quickly realized there was
no school spirit, no sports (besides
baseball) and no recognition of
the university's existence by the
surrounding community. That, and living
approximately 50 yards from a freeway
the likes of which Kansas has never
seen, made me question the "college experience" Fullerton was providing.
Sure, the beach, Disneyland, my family and the Staples Center (home of the Los Angeles Lakers) were all a short drive away, but what about those crazy fans that smeared themselves in paint before the most mundane of sporting events? What about those old fraternity houses that look like giant mansions? What about the local bars dedicated to and frequented by a largely underage student body? I wanted those things.
As I trudged into my dorm room at Fullerton
on a beautiful Saturday afternoon in late February, I saw my roommate, blazed as usual, watching a college basketball game on television. KU was playing, and students were covered in paint, screaming rabidly as the announcer said that "All the shops in town close up early when there's a basketball game going on," something I later learned was a gross exaggeration. I didn't watch the game, as I have never really cared for college basketball, but instead I went to my computer and spent the next hour filling out an application to transfer to the University of Kansas. I didn't bother applying anywhere else. A few months later I was packing up my truck, ready to head out to uncharted territory, a state where I didn't know a single person.
guess you can say I'm somewhat spontai. aous.
My parents, who have both lived in the Orange County area their entire lives, supported my decision, though my mother was a bit apprehensive about not seeing her oldest child for months at a time. This was a much bigger step than going from high school to a college just 30 minutes away."You know you're going to be there for the next three years of your life," my mother reminded me as I got ready
to leave. I know, Mom."And you don't know anyone there." I know, Mom."And you're coming back as soon as you graduate." I know, Mom.
I spent my first year in Oliver Hall. The atmosphere was fun, the people were friendly and, initially, it didn't feel too different from being in California. But something was off. I could never quite shake the feeling that I just didn't fit in. It's hard to put a handle on what was different. I just wasn't in my comfort zone. I wasn't at home. I didn't feel as comfortable meeting new people or joshing around with casual acquaintances.
When people here find out I'm from California—and if they ever do, it's against my best efforts—they seem to step back and re-evaluate me, not as the person I am but who they expect me to be. It's subtle, but it's there. I have a great group of friends here that I see every other weekend or so—not nearly enough—but the day-to-day life between those times feels a bit empty.After I graduate, I'll still be a Jayhawk, but I'll be going home.
I miss home. I miss being able to go outside in shorts at any time of the year, being able to have bonfires on the beach at night and having my choice of dozens of restaurants for delicious Mexican food. I miss my friends I've known since grade school, and I miss my girlfriend, whom I only
get to see during breaks.
And guess what? I don't paint myself crimson and blue for sporting events, I'm not in a fraternity and I'm not a huge fan of bars. But this doesn't mean I regret coming to KU. I cherish every friend I've had the pleasure of meeting here, and it's been an interesting change from the same old song and
dance in California that has been my past and will probably be my future. I took a chance to see someplace new and
different, and while I haven't seen any tornadoes out here, I can always tell the relatives back home about the microburst and that stoplight I saw rolling down the street in the wind.
I wouldn't trade seeing that for any sunny day.
...
interesting fact. Feb. 29, 1964: Frank Rugani sets badminton shuttlecock distance Contact the writer; jhunt@kansan.com record of 79 feet. 8 inches. —www.brainyhistory.com Graphic by: Brenna Hawley 02.28.2008 VOL. 5 ISS. 22 19