Volume 96, Issue 7
Tuesday, September 10, 2002

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It's alright to kiss your soph now

Between Lines
Tait Simpson

Opinions Editor

I'll be the first one to admit it – I skipped every single Frosh Week event during my previous two years at Western and now I regret it.

During my first year, the sophs, or whoever was knocking on my door at that ungodly hour of the morning, reminded me far too much of being woken up for work. Wasn't Western supposed to be where we had come to get away from all that – a place where class was now optional and cable was delivered free to our residence suites? There was no amount of door knocking or seeing other frosh having fun that was going to get me to put on my oversized T-shirts and meet people.

Having seen this year's Frosh Week up close, I can now say my views have come full circle. Last Thursday, the Concrete Beach would have been just another sunny fashion show if it wasn't for the sophs painting their faces, blaring tunes and adding an array of colour to the scene with their soph uniforms. They made Western seem fun and welcoming for a change, while the rest of us sat there looking impersonal and uninterested.

We all owe the sophs a big hand for their efforts put into Orientation Week. First-years – you could even give your soph a big kiss (as some frosh have no doubt tried). They deserve at least a hand from those of us who even just watched O-Week unfold.

The 827 sophs that paid, believe it or not, to create such a great Frosh Week did so solely out of their desire to help their fellow students. They signed a contract to put their best foot forward and keep their sex, drug and drinking fetishes in the dark. In doing so, they gave campus the feeling of a place where students would want to spend the next eight months, however fleeting that feeling may be.

Despite my newfound respect for my sleep deprived friends, I still look at their whole week with a considerable amount of bewilderment. I heard one story of a soph having to stop their 2:30 a.m. walk home with a group of frosh so that one of their frosh could relieve their drink filled stomach in the bushes. Why that same soph would want to get up at 6 a.m to do it all over again the next day leaves me dumbfounded.

By the end of the week – despite exhaustion – sophs still had smiles on their faces whenever their frosh were looking. Maybe it's that same smile people have when they crawl across the finish line of the Ironman triathlon – I don't know.

This week all the sophs can forget about their contracts and early morning wake-ups and enjoy a little relaxation. I hope all 827 of you enjoy it – you deserve it.

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2002 THE GAZETTE