It wouldn’t matter whether JMU president Dr. Rose came to talk to me himself- I still wouldn’t go to James Madison University after graduation.
I’ve spent thirteen of my sixteen years on this earth in Harrisonburg, approximately seven minutes in every direction from the center of the JMU campus. Every morning since sixth grade (about as far back as I can remember) I’ve sat in student caused traffic, waiting for the reckless student drivers to careen around the sharp turn of my neighborhood entrance and I’ve been late too many times to count because of needless student accidents. Really, there are few things that could be more painful to me than contemplating joining the ranks of the twenty thousand JMU students, also known as the army of horrible drivers.
Not that there is anything wrong with JMU. The school has one of the best music programs in the state and is ranked as one of the top public schools in Virginia. And sure, there are thousands of high schoolers who can’t imagine anything better than being able to sport purple and gold and cheer ‘Dukes’ at every Saturday afternoon football game. I just can’t picture myself staying in Harrisonburg for another four years, being tempted back to Harrisonburg High School sporting events and eating at El Charro more regularly than can be healthy.
I feel like I’ve already attended JMU at this point, anyway. I went to pre-school next to the hospital and we took regular field trips onto campus to pick monkey brains off the sidewalk and count the number of pinecones on the Quad. Big Rock (which I hear is called Kissing Rock according to the students) on the corner of the quad is a mountain in my memory, although it doesn’t look so large today. Since my mother is chair of the Political Science department, whenever I got bored I would go sit in her office and watch students buzzing in and out.
I’ve even been to class at JMU since whenever I was sick the only place to go was to my mom’s classes. The embarrassment that the students would inflict on me, from the cooing to the head patting, has permanently prejudiced me against them.
In short, I cannot really imagine what kind of reward I would have to be offered to find myself enrolled at JMU. The potential for spotting my mother on campus, as well as the knowledge that my house is maybe five minutes away from my dorm would probably negate all the positive sides of the JMU student life.
In the more than a decade that I’ve lived in Harrisonburg, I’ve already attended lectures, played on the quad and eaten in D-Hall. What would there be left to look forward to? ◊
