Chicken Soup for the Soul: Struggling frosh given sound advice

Comments 0
Published: October 10, 2009

"Give people enough guidance to make the decisions you want them to make. Don’t tell them what to do, but encourage them to do what is best.”

— Jimmy Johnson

BY CRAIG RAPHAEL

In college, people don’t tease each other like they do in high school. I learned that the hard way.

I struggled with my weight in high school; people taunted me in the hallways and called me names such as "hippo” and "lard-butt.”

But in college, no one said a word. Instead, they whispered to their friends and giggled as I went for more french fries or scarfed a piece of chocolate cake in the dining hall. They didn’t need to say anything; the way they looked at me said it all.

I dealt with many issues that year: adjusting to life away from home, making friends, finding the right classes. Food became my way of dealing with my problems.

By sophomore year, I found a supportive group of friends and learned to manage my weight, shedding almost 30 pounds. But I never forgot what it was like to be on the outside, feeling all alone and as if no one cared.

In spring semester my second year, a friend dragged me to a party at a freshman dorm. He wanted to flirt with a girl from his hometown. I reluctantly agreed to go.

The dorm had a cafeteria on the first floor, and the rooms upstairs smelled of stale pizza, cinder blocks and grease. Inside, about 20 people were crammed into a tiny space with fluorescent lighting and crusty carpeting. Generic indie rock blared from small speakers, and everyone was playing a drinking game.

In an instant I recalled all those miserable, awkward parties where you sit around with people you don’t like and guzzle bad beer in the hopes of having a good time. Afterward, I used to raid the vending machine and binge-eat under the covers so my roommate wouldn’t see.

"I can’t do this,” I said quickly to my friend. He nodded, understanding how I felt. "It’s cool; give me a call later,” he said.

As I was about to leave, I noticed a nervous-looking guy leaning against the wall a few feet apart from the group. He was staring blankly, looking unhappy.

"Hey, Max,” someone shouted to him. "Come party with us!”

"Give me a minute,” he said.

"Don’t be a buzzkill!” a girl shouted back.

"Why does that kid even hang around here?” muttered another girl. I wasn’t sure whether Max heard her, but when no one was looking, he slipped out the door.

And I followed him. "Hey, wait up!” I shouted. I chased him down the hallway.

"What?” he asked flatly.

"I never really had fun at those either,” I admitted.

"Oh yeah?” he said, his eyes full of mistrust.

"I’m just trying to help, that’s all. When I was a freshman, I was really unhappy, too.”

"What makes you think I’m so unhappy?” he demanded. "And why do you even care?”

I started to feel a little guilty. I realized I had selfish reasons for helping Max. I wanted to be the cool older kid who steered him away from a bad party and bad people — the friend I wished I had as a freshman.

"Look man,” I said, "I don’t know anything about you. I just saw you, and it reminded me of how I used to feel. I should have left you alone. I’ll see you later.”

"Wait,” he said, motioning me toward the stairwell. "I’m sorry. You’re right: I don’t like those people. The truth is, I don’t know who else to hang out with. It’s been really hard here. Everyone says college is the best time of your life, but so far I’ve been really unhappy. I hate this place.”

"Well, this might not make you feel better,” I said, "but we all go through it.”

"I wasn’t lying when I said I had a hard time as a freshman. Trying to make friends, adjusting to life away from home ... plus everyone made fun of me because I was fat. People at this school can be really hurtful; it doesn’t matter that they’re smart.”

"Yeah, I hear that,” Max said.

"Don’t worry about those people,” I said. "You’re gonna find people you like. I promise.”

"OK,” he said. "I have a hard time believing you, but I hope you’re right. OK, bye.”

I watched him stroll away. Suddenly, he turned his head. "Hey! What’s your name?” he asked.

"Craig!” I shouted.

"Nice meeting you. I’m Max.” I could tell there was something different about the way he held himself.

I only saw Max a few times after that. But when I did, he seemed to be in better spirits. From what I could tell, he had made new friends. I don’t know whether what I said that night helped him, but I’m glad I did what I did. Not just for Max, but for me, too.

King Features Syndicate