Mesemple Student

My last Broad Street Journal article, ever:


We call the backyard “Little Grantham.” It’s a grassy escape, furnished well with a 2-person hammock, a gazebo, unnecessary stepping stones in mulch patches, a table, a bike rack, and as the weather warms, good people unwinding, reading, socializing, and sunbathing. It serves as our pseudo-Messiah College getaway, and people seem to take to the hominess it provides.

I have been in Philadelphia for two semesters now and can appreciate the nostalgia for more trees, less concrete, and more quiet—the kind of atmosphere Grantham yields. But I can equally appreciate the hominess Temple University extends, an institution that once felt daunting, impersonal, aloof. Perhaps it had something to do with the magnitude of the student body, the crude (but comical) graffiti on classroom desks, or the nondescript social science buildings that look more like hospitals towers.

But these buildings have become my “home” this semester—my “Little Boyer,” as we humanities majors might tag them (even though these buildings are actually a good deal larger). As for the students and graffiti, both have become comforting reminders of the diversity, creativity, and verve of the student atmosphere here. Where at Messiah can you find that girl with poofy pink dreads, the African American Studies floor, or “Tits in my face” etched before you? Where at Messiah can you grab coffee with your doctoral friend who studies body image in Zimbabwe, expect wine and cheese at department seminars, and observe beyond-intense four-square tournaments outside the cafeteria?

Yes, Temple University has become a humble abode over the past two semesters, a home away from Mama Lottie that keeps my spirits lifted even in the face of finals week. My respite is the Mac lab on Gladfelter 2nd, the Mr. Softee truck I see and hear at least twice a day, and the sounds of jambay jams at the center of campus. My getaway is the “Sexy Green Food Truck” that serves spinach and feta omelets on pita, the “My president is black and I love it!” engravings on the tables, and the environmental activists in matching jackets I seem to always evade.

I expect when I return to Grantham in the fall, I will seek out some “Little Temple” moments across campus. You may hear me referring to Lottie as J&H or “JAYCH.” You may question my motives when I ask you to accompany me to the SAC (in Grantham speak, The Union). You may wonder why I’m using the elevator in Boyer to get to the second floor. Just give me time to settle back in. Allow me my dear Temple relapses, and I promise to work on not flashing my student ID in Messiah’s nonexistent security gaurds’ faces every time we walk into a building together.