GUEST COLUMN: "In Search of An Old Friend"

Recently I took my situation to my academic advisor. It didn't help. She tells me my problem is real. She claims she knows of no one else in my category. I'm betting she's wrong. She's been mistaken before. This woman suggested I stay away from Latin because the classes would be full of pre-Med students -- characterizing them as "too competitive." Not! Latin classes mostly attract students attempting to satisfy their language requirement without taking a proficiency exam. The trouble isn't the class work -- it's that I'm older than the teacher. In the 1960s, I sat in on sit-ins. When Candice Bergen was being kicked off campus here, I was a coed at Penn State. Like Candice, I didn't finish my program either. Since then, I've had a life. I did everything there is to do out there. I wanted more. The '60s may have bound a whole generation together forever, but unlike Candice, I'm not in line for an honorary degree. So I'm back in school again. I don't mind working for my sheepskin, but I could sure use somebody to take a study break with. I'm sociable. People like me. I make friends in school. The other students from my Shakespeare class last summer continue to do group hugs with me on the Green. I just fit in differently. As the more "mature" member, my role in the committee presentation of Romeo and Juliet was to hold up gender-explicit signs indicating sexual puns in the play dialogue. Such is the consequence of possessing a non-virginal laugh. Perhaps for the same reason, I was selected to translate Apuleius' phrasing in this semester's Latin 3 class: "Sister, my husband has such diseased joints that he very rarely honors my Venus." It's not that other undergrads are inexperienced with life's little pleasures. I guess it's just obvious that I can perform without blushing. Unfortunately, all the single men I've met on campus have mothers who helped me welcome the Beatles into the USA. We were around when "oldies" were new 45's that we bought at three for a dollar in the record shop. In my Linguistics recitation this term, the class was required to name ten new words coined in our lifetime. Well! How's "miniskirt" grab you, let alone "stereo" or "TV"? I don't feel old. Still, I do have children the age of most of my classmates. But one of my young female friends here looked puzzled last month when I excitedly announced that my daughter had delivered a baby girl the night before. I realized that's definitely not your standard undergraduate conversation when she "caught my drift" and said: "Oh, that's right. I keep forgetting you're, uh, like that." Are all my anecdotes going over everybody's head? Is there anybody in school who can do The Stomp? Who remembers getting the first polio shots, or when JFK died? Who knows Arlo Guthrie? I'd like to talk to a fellow student who can identify patriotism, joy, despair or grief in a Modern American poem and discuss it in other than academic terms. Don't misunderstand. I respect all my young companions. Hearing their words of idealism and intelligence gives me renewed hope and faith in America. All they really lack is experience, and that's OK. They already know how to love -- the capacity to care knows no age discrimination. It's just that I'd like very much to have a beer with another student who shares my perspective, and who doesn't get carded at the door. If you're out there, call me. I'll know it's you?the truly mature person has learned to use directory assistance. Barbara Matthews is a junior in the College of General Studies from Bristol, Pennsylvania. She aspires to be a dean at this university someday.

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