When I left Colorado for this little college excursion, I honestly had little faith in my ability to stay in touch with my old friends. My parents had shipped me off to my fair share of camps, conferences, and forums both 15 minutes from home and 15 hours by plane throughout my various summers.

I’d seen how quickly friendships could form and I’d seen how easily it can turn in to some epic chore just to shoot an E-mail to an old friend.

It wasn’t necessarily some “Notebook-esque” tragedy, it was just how things turned out. You win some you lose some and especially at the ripe old age of 16 knowing that there was little chance to see a specific summer-camp girl from Texas ever again the necessity to reach out on a regular basis just didn’t seem worth it.

I feel guilty admitting that now, but especially when I was on the cusp of venturing off to Berkeley it was even harder to admit that I was less than optimistic concerning how well I would stay up to date with even my best friends at the time. It had been about 2 weeks since our last phone conversation but today, I talked to a few of the usual suspects from back home.

There’s something special about tasting a little slice of home. It’s refreshing. It’s less this need to spill everything and catch up on every semi-pivotal moment since the last talk. It’s an understanding that there’s a setting waiting for you at the dinner table. There’s a spot on the neighbor’s couch, a stocked cheese drawer to raid for quesadilla construction, a toothbrush in another house for sleepover emergencies (Yes, I’m 18, and of course that still happens)…

There’s just something special about those punks. They have the power to maintain my sanity and the responsibility to keep me in check. I guess home is a little different than summer camp. Thankfully.

This entry was posted on Thursday, February 15, 2007 at 11:56 PM. You can skip to the end and leave a response.