California Dreaming

Whenever I introduce myself as a native Southern Californian, eyebrows rise, nostrils flare and coy smiles show. But I have become accustomed to this reaction, especially as it becomes clearer and clearer that most people simply consider the West Coast a haven for "snow bunnies" and for types of foliage that just cannot be cultivated in colder climates. I smile and tell them to give California a second chance.

But as I watch unusually large numbers of people lounging in the Yard, lapping up the "last" of the sun's rays, I realize their perception is beginning to look more and more accurate. When I ignorantly asked what all the rush was, my friend cynically told me that never had it been this warm so late in October. And my sister at home is just now opting for the T-shirt to wear with her shorts and sandals, as opposed to the tank top.

As the leaves crunch under my feet, I realize my first Bostonian winter is approaching--and all too soon. Thankfully, my East Coast-native parents have prepared me with double-breasted coats and wool sweaters and fleece blankets--ignoring my adamant protests, of course. Umbrellas? Unheard of. Boots? You must be joking. And not only polar fleece, but polar fleece vests? What is going on here?

What I am experiencing is a rite of passage to which native East Coasters have already been well weathered. Those from Massachusetts, New York and Minnesota know what to expect. Their blood has been thickening since their first snow storm. And like the booster shots given at such an early age you can't remember the pain of prodding needles, they cannot even remember the painful experience. I, on the other hand, with my thin blood and unfamiliarity with this "layering" of clothes idea, am more than mature enough to remember whatever pain and nuisance I am soon to experience.

But it didn't have to be this way. During Orientation Week, I was ambushed with maps of the Yard, counseling facilities, tours of Boston, introductions to my prefects, proctor, academic advisor and at least five condom distribution centers. Harvard obviously considers these things essential to easing the transition into "college life." Unfortunately, there was no mention of what will probably be my biggest shock of all: the weather. My fellow Californians and empathetic Floridians now joke about actually wearing hats for a functional purpose. But when the sun starts setting at 4 p.m., the wind begins cutting through our clothes and the walk to the dining hall becomes a trek, we won't have a soul on campus to turn to.

But I don't mean to complain. My rite of passage is not whether I will survive or not--I am sure that my Gortex-lined everything will thwart any threats to my health. The pressing question is whether I am going to want to survive or not. Is the East Coast worth all of this effort, money and worrying? At least I have four years to decide.