Lending a helping hand
(04/28/14 8:18am)
My first homecoming of sorts came freshman year when my family helped me haul my suitcase across the Atlantic from our compact London apartment into an equally compact Randolph 212. There I was, at the end-goal of my high school education where I was going to major in ‘x,’ join ‘y’ organizations and take part in ‘z’ programs. I wasn’t completely set on my variables yet, but I had a formula. What I failed to process, however, was how my one-woman strategy would be tested by the nearly 2,000 freshmen that were descending upon East Campus that day.