ALEXIA SCOTT is a
senior biological sciences
major and a Daily
Nebraskan columnist.
It has been said that it takes a
village to raise a child well, and this
weekend I returned to my village for
the last time. For within the month
my parents are moving from the
town that I have called home since I
was 6. So I took the weekend to say
my farewells and to bask in the
warmth of my childhood.
Well, actually my roommate and
I set out on an excursion to get away
from Lincoln for a few days - as
well as to celebrate my father’s
birthday. In four years of friendship,
she had never visited the sacred
streets of Ida Grove, Iowa, and this
was going to be her last chance.
The drive home is very calming,
and the knowledge that good food
and some needed R&R awaited us
only multiplied this feeling. During
the descent into the sheltered valley,
One last trip
Final visit home revives fond memories
I instantly flashed back to my first
trips from Lincoln when I would be
rushing down that hill at 80 mph
just to get home. Everything looked
just as it has for about 16 years, as
though nothing has ever changed
there. (Of course, an argument could
be made in support of that theory!)
I looked at Ida Grove differently
this trip, maybe because Jess was
along, but more likely because I
knew that this would be my last look
at home. As my parents gave her the
super-deluxe version of the tour, I
had time to think back to all of the
good times that I experienced while
growing up. I also found myself
thinking about the people that made
the most impact on my life there.
One of the first stops was my
high school - the building hasn’t
changed at all in the five years since
graduation - but the most important
person who was there is now gone.
No, I’m not talking about myself,
but rather my basketball coach. He
left this past year to take a job else
where, leaving behind an enormous
legacy. Coach was tough, on and off
the court, in and out of season, but
only because he expected nothing
less than absolute dedication from
his players. I was far from the most
talented member of our team, but he
and I always connected. This con
nection made him the person I
turned to when I wanted advice
from someone other than my par
ents. This connection extended past
our coach-player relationship - he
was a mentor for me.
As I waxed nostalgic throughout
the rest of the tour, I was reminded
of more people and events, some
good and some not so great. Passing
by my mom’s office reminded me of
the summer spent working in the
factory.
Those three months were proba
bly the only time in my life when I
questioned whether or not my par
ents loved me, because I was sure
that if they did, they would not have
made me work from 6 a.m. to 4:30
p.m. every day doing hard, physical
labor. The first lesson on the first
day of that job taught me why I was
going to college and not staying at
home for the rest of my days. It was
that summer I learned I could live
through anything for three months!
Since we were only home for
about a day and a half, most of the
time was spent with my parents and
older sister, Shilo. The creature
comforts of home were all still
there, except that I had to sleep on
the floor so Shilo and Jess could be
comfortable. We talked, ate, listened
to the Nebraska football game, and
ate some more. We sat around the
dinner table and laughed about all
the things that Shilo and I had done
when we were younger, most of
which Shilo got caught for and I did
not. For a few moments, our family
managed to freeze the rushing clock
that always surrounds us and just
enjoy each other for just being there.
No one mentioned that this would
be our last dinner around the table in
Ida Grove, but Shilo and I knew it
and felt it. Thanksgiving and
Christmas will come as usual this
year, but the trip “home” will not be
the same, and I will reminisce while
I drive to wherever it is that Mom
and Dad will be living.
At one point the realization
came to me that I played a bigger
part in this village than just being
raised there. I was talking to the
younger brother of one of my best
friends, who could, for all practical
purposes, be my little brother. He is
a senior in high school and sees me
as part of his family too.
I also ran into the parent of a
young lady I used to baby-sit for,
who is now a freshman in college.
Her mom told me that she would
love to hear from me, since I would
understand what she is going
through. I’ve played a role in the
lives of these two people, and made
an impact on the village that they’ve
come to know.
Overall, the weekend reminded
me that having grown up in a small
town, even one in Iowa, was a great
way to go. I was taught some of
life’s most important lessons by
members of that village, and now it
is my turn to take those lessons on
to wherever I end up calling home.
Go your own way
Be true to self, not superficial world
CLIFF HICKS is a junior
news-editorial and
English major and a Daily
Nebraskan columnist.
I almost started drinking Sprite
because of its slogan. Almost.
It had to be one of the most
encouraging pieces of advertising I’d
seen in years. Perhaps you saw it?
Three guys in front of a basketball
court start offering up why they
drink this fake soda, and then the
director of the commercial points out
that the can is upside down. The
three basketball players suddenly
change into the whining stereotype
of actors, complaining about their
lines and motivation.
The ad ends with “Image is noth
ing. Thirst is everything. Quench
your thirst.”
Oh, if only the world would listen
to the first part of that... the things
that would change. Read it again and
let it ingrain itself into the surface of
your brain.
Image. Is. Nothing.
It’s not true, of course, but if it
only were. This is a superficial world
we live in. Everything is only as
much as it appears to be. In the world
we live in, appearance is everything.
It isn’t based on reality, but the per
ception of reality.
In high school (and here in col
lege too, I suppose) I was the weird
kid. I moved fUnny, sat-in strange
places during the lunch hour, had a
tendency to stare without focusing,
was notorious for having strange
political and social views - in
essence, I wasn’t that popular.
Notorious, perhaps, but not popular.
I still have mixed feelings about
those years of my life. I’ll tell you
why.
Over this past summer, I ran into
one of the more popular kids in my
high school. He and I actually sat
down and had lunch. We swapped
stories and caught up. During our
conversations, he said something to
me that has stuck with me awhile
now.
“It must have been wonderful not
to care about appearances back then.
How could you stand giving the fin
ger to popularity for so long? How
could you stand the price of solitude
for your martyrdom?”
I had to think a good while about
it before I answered. While I can’t
remember my exact wording, my
point to him was this: No matter
where you go, no matter what you
do, everyone will have a different
idea of what you should be like.
Either you can spend all of your time
and energy trying to find a way to
satisfy everyone, or you can tell
them all to buzz off.
It’s been months since I wore
anything other than a T-shirt and
jeans. I cut my hair just the other day,
not because I wanted to look more
respectable but because I was tired of
it curling up on me. I’ve changed
between being clean shaven to a
mustache/goatee/beard so many
times even I’ve lost count
because I can’t make
up my mind which I
like. My appearance
means very little to me.
It’s not about being the
preppie or the rebel anymore. It’s
about being you, no matter what it
takes, not what someone else sees
as you. There’s no difference
between the people who wear /£
only Gap clothing so that they / £
fit in at parties and the peo- />
pie who get their backs //
covered in tattoos just
to freak out their rela
tives. It’s doing
something for
someone else.
Maybe I’m
still the weird
kid I was
back in
high /
school, but now I’m coming to terms
with it. I don’t have to care what’s “in
fashion” and what’s “passe.”
That said, even I can’t say that I
disregard image entirely. I’d be lying.
Every single one of us has percep
tions that we have developed over
time. Ifs sad that it happens, but all
we can really do is try and ignore
them. Close your eyes and focus on
the ideas being conveyed, not the
form conveying them. I have trouble
with it sometimes myself, but we still
have to try.
You can’t hear my voice or can’t
__*«11r A 11 T_
on campus. I’m not a person, I’m an
opinion. I love that. You don’t know
me, so this is all you get. Nothing
more.
Sto{i and take a long, hard look at
yourself. Are you a victim of superfi
ciality and don’t even know it? How
long do you think about your clothes
before you put them on? Have you
ever avoided someone because you
didn’t want them to “see how you
look”?
Are you just an image, or some
thing more?
Spend a few weeks wearing T
ovv iiiv uua.. rvn 1 mu iu
you is words on
paper and
a little
picture
to help
you
know who
to hate
shirts and jeans. Leave your hair in a
state of disarray. Don’t shave. Forget
about your appearance and watch
how other people can’t. You’ll find
people ask you what’s wrong, trying
to get you to change back into the
status quo you fell into before.
That’s the reason I like words.
They’re faceless - they can contain
ideas capable of overthrowing rulers
or they can just make someone laugh
... and they still look the same. Just a
quick glance at words reveals very
little about their content. But the real
world doesn’t believe in ideas or
dreams, just shallow facades.
Close your eyes. Forget
about what you see.
Image is noth
ing.
I still hate the taste of
Sprite, though.
AmyMartin/DN