I love going home for breaks. For weeks I dream about eating wings at Ferg’s Sports Bar and Grill. I call my brother and tell him to practice his ping-pong game. My friends get tired of seeing pictures of my dog Muppet and hearing about all the tricks she can do.

I also hate going home. Spending time with my family floods me with memories of when things were simpler. It takes five minutes with my friend Tuthill to revert to my old, bawdy sense of humor. After a week in my old routine I never want to leave. When I get on the plane, a wave of sadness hits me.

My freshman year, it took months to consider my dorm room anything close to a home. I counted down the days until the next time I could go back to Florida and sleep in my real bed.

After a while, I resigned myself to living 1,600 miles from home. I settled into my new ways and got used to my classes. Calling my parents a couple of times a week substituted for seeing them every day. But every time I went home, I felt homesick for weeks after going back to school.

This Spring Break followed the old pattern. I bragged about how I was going to go to the beach. I made a list of all the places I wanted to eat.

I spent time with my brother and Tuthill and Muppet. A friend of mine from Brooklyn came down for a day and we played baseball at Ft. DeSoto beach. I downed a platter of wings while watching college basketball highlights.

I dreaded my flight on Sunday. I was having such a blast that I knew leaving would be awful.

When I got to the airport, though, I was excited. I couldn’t wait to get back to Dallas and into the swing of things again. When my friends Rafael and Nicolette picked me up from DFW Airport, Rafael tackled me. It was good to be back.

This was the first time this had happened. I had a ton of fun at home, but I was ready to come back to SMU. I’ll miss my family, but I’m not upset by it.

I guess this is what it’s like to grow up. I’m used to living on my own and making decisions for myself. I love my friends back home, but I’m developing new ones here. I can’t even remember what it was like to live with my family and have to get permission to stay out past curfew or spend the night somewhere.

This may be the most important part of college. For years we’ve lived in that awkward place between being a kid and an adult. Finally we get to branch out on our own, make mistakes, and hopefully learn from them. We get to find out who we are.

– Nathaniel French

Opinion Editor