Catching up to the past

Wildcat File Photo Arizona Daily Wildcat Scott Andrew Schulz

Somehow, however, this day appeared different in the early hours. I looked up from the jagged pavement to glance at the faces of those around me, of those I passed so often during my daily ritual to class. And what I saw took me back to a time I had since forgotten.

All around me I noticed the joys and pains that I, myself, had grown so accustomed to knowing and loving. Such heart-felt emotions were reflected off the simple expressions of each soul I passed and for some reason, which I cannot help but recall, I closed my eyes to this world and remembered a time when life was so much more elementary and beautiful.

Once there was a time when celebrating a birthday meant indulging in cake and ice cream. Maybe a game of bowling or miniature golf would follow and pictures would be taken of frosting smeared across your mouth. Now, having a birthday means drinking as much as possible without dying and being inaugurated into the pathetic, dead-end world of bars and nightclubs, where many of us will waste our lives away weekend after weekend until we grow old and gray.

Once there was a time when "going out" with someone meant sneaking behind the school right after class to give one of your best friends a nervously anticipated kiss. You would hold hands in the hallway the next day to show everyone how grown up you were and you were encompassed in an innocent state of love. Now, "going out" refers to the ridiculous world of dating and learning how it feels to let those closest to you down. You must now deal with the threat of AIDS, unwanted pregnancy and shame as you continue that process of growing up.

Once there was a time when "work" meant helping your dad stack firewood, or cleaning your house while your parents were out together, providing them with a pleasant surprise. Now, it means wasting hours of your life at a meaningless job that does little more than make someone else rich and slow the expansion of your personal financial debt.

Once there was a time when it was easy to make friends. Everyone seemed like they had something special to offer. Now, you turn away from those you see on the street and stand in silence at the bus stop.

Once there was a time when you did not have to understand how big the world is. When the Earth was the size of your neighborhood block and you thought that was enormous. Little by little you inched ever closer to crossing that one street that would end your naive perception of the world and your place in it.

There was a time when health food was a peanut butter and jelly sandwich with chips and a cookie. Likewise, a fruit cooler was a Capri Sun or Hi-C.

Once there was a time when you felt that you did not really need your parents. That you could handle the world just fine on your own and you yearned for the chance to prove it. You had your plans all mapped out and felt the frustration of being held back. Then, you finally left home and realized just how much you missed Mom and Dad.

Once there was a time when it was fun to visit relatives. You could stay over at Grandma's house and look forward to late nights with plenty of Danish butter cookies and, best of all, cable television. That was before you realized all of the politics involved with families and discovered that Grandma made mistakes in her lifetime that you have trouble forgiving.

Once there was a time when Christmas was the most anticipated event of the year. It brought with it a gigantic smile as you were more than content to open what seemed like millions of gifts addressed to you. That was before finals and stress existed, along with the struggle to make everyone happy while you sit on Christmas morning with a feeling of exhausted emptiness.

These thoughts soon faded. I opened my eyes and continued up the steps to class, somewhat content with the images that had danced before me, at least in my memory. But then, as I made myself comfortable in the auditorium and the professor made visible a collection of notes and theories, I again focused on a saddening reality.

Those days, and the innocence that accompanied them, are gone forever.

Scott Andrew Schulz is a communication junior and can be reached via e-mail at Scott.Andrew.Schulz@wildcat.arizona.edu. His column, Millstone, appears every Wednesday.