More often than not, my face betrays me in moments of embarrassment–I’m usually scarlet before I even realize I may have said or done something vaguely weird or innocuous. And more often than not, someone mentions the assaultive rouge, which in turn only increases its feverish intensity. (If you are one of these offenders, this is your cease and desist notice.) For this reason alone I avoid wearing the color red at all costs. Any red garment instantly clashes.
And yet here I am, at a university where no one could love the vibrant tone more. I’ll admit, once upon a time I did own the typical red logo sweatshirt. I purchased it at CityCo after the accepted students weekend because, of course, everyone back home needed to know where I was headed. And they should care about it. Let’s call it The College Sweatshirt of Initially Forced School Spirit–I had no idea if a city school, or BU, was ideal for me, but the university apparel nevertheless feigned confidence in this decision.
Where is that sweatshirt now? I’m absolutely positive my sister stole it for her soccer practices along with all my other BU garb, which includes a FYSOP t-shirt, red long-sleeve from orientation, short sleeve in maroon, and a grey zip-up. The only red, quasi-BU related item currently in my closet has CHOOSE TO BE GREAT emblazoned on the front–the free t-shirt from the fundraiser event. I wasn’t kidding when I said I avoid wearing red.
My school spirit indeed is rather limited; I haven’t attended a hockey game and I’m even relieved to attend a university that doesn’t partake in the homecoming tailgate rituals. But then I wonder about how to foster an attachment my final year when those college rituals are designed for that sole reason. What will I have to reminisce about? (Hopefully, not just fallen ice sculptures.)
I ultimately realize I’m a student of a city, a university of Boston. While my school spirit may not reveal itself in parading attire, it is painted all over my face in bona fide red.
