Civic and Community Engagement Commons^™

The First Year Frat Experience, Anonymous

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It was September 14th and my three weeks were up. I had told myself I had three weeks to make friends. Three weeks before Greek life would dominate the social scene. Publicly, I decried the three week rule, writing it off as dumb or lame. Privately, a part of me wished it could last forever. That night, while my floor pregamed in their rooms, I stayed in mine. I spent a long night alone, listening to the music blasting from dorm rooms and down the streets. I decided to shut the lights off because I didn’t want the world to …

That Time I Was Harassed By The Man In The Corner Office, Claire A. Aljian

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Last summer I worked as the marketing intern in my father’s office, keeping mostly to myself in a small cubicle that I was proud to call my own and conversing daily with the female marketing director. Aside from her and the vice president of human resources, the office remained a sea of trimmed white hair and casually tucked in dress shirts. Within a few weeks in the office, both of these women took me aside to explain that they were careful never to overstep the line between aggressive and passive. [excerpt]

Realtors, Resistance, And White Roses, Casey Trattner

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I remember driving to school with my mother, eyes wide. I thought, as we passed by buildings and stores and little cafes with seats outside, that the small suburban town we were driving through was beautiful.

And when I told my mom, she looked at me out of the corner of her eyes and told me:

“Did I ever tell you how Dad and I were going to move here?”

“Here?” I said. “No… I don’t think so.”

“We were looking at a house that we both liked, but when I asked the real estate agent about how I heard …

I Hope, Mai Trinh

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As I have gotten older, I have learned that no matter how hard I try, I am never going to be able to repay my mother for everything that she did for me. The blood, sweat, and tears she put into nurturing the sick and troublesome, five-year-old me, the rebellious and lazy fifteen-year-old me, and the clumsy, and sometimes lost me now, are insurmountable. I know she had more trouble raising me than she was supposed to. I know her first five years of being a mother did not include taking me to the park, sitting down on a park …

Your Masculinity Does Not Make You My Judge And Jury, Melissa J. Lauro

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For me, Springfest 2016 began with the purchasing of a pack of cigarettes. A bad decision, surely, but not surprising for a weekend that is usually filled with them.

Before walking over to a party with my friends that weekend, I tucked the cigarettes securely in the back pocket of my shorts. The scene that unfolded as I walked into my friend’s apartment was a typical one: a rush of people, dim lighting, and loud, pulsing music. I tried to walk through the crowd quickly, waving and shouting a quick “hey” to friends here and there as I passed by. …

A Targeted Existence, Melissa J. Lauro

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Over the summer, I visited a friend from Gettysburg who was having a party. The party was fun for the first half, and I was having a good time, so I decided to stay the night instead of walk in the dark to the bus. This is what parents and educators and older sisters and women everywhere had taught me: stay with people you know; clutch your keys in your hand; don’t walk alone. I was staying with my friend from school; I was safe. [excerpt]