Twenty years.

Since I'm too lazy to pull out a calendar from 1995 to determine exactly what date Labour Day fell on that year, I'll assume it's today.

On said holiday in 1995, my parents drove me down to Waterloo with a good chunk of my worldly possessions, and helped me move into residence at the University of Waterloo (Village 1, North 1, room 115).

Twenty fucking years ago.

I remember the day vividly.

Bright and sunny, warm but not too hot. We drove into the south entrance of campus, following hundreds of other identical cars filled with identical families doing the exact same thing we were. Halfway up the Ring Road on the left, frosh leaders poked their heads in and asked if I was in Math; I wasn't, thankfully (although I almost was, as I'd initially applied to the Applied Mathematics program instead of Physics).

We drove in through the driveway that pokes into V1 and parked on the grass, up on a slight hill. My parents and I carried armfuls of my stuff down the hill and into my room; I don't think they stuck around too long before heading off. Amongst my possessions was a toaster and a kettle, two things you're really not supposed to have in res (but, screw you, rules; besides, I never left them unattended).

After setting my stuff up, I went outside and joined a group of people from my house (North 1) for a demonstration which showed how to put a drunk, passed-out person in the Bacchus Position -- laying on their side with their one arm stuck out so they don't roll over onto their back and choke on their vomit and die.

One of the first people I met, aside from my roomate Mike (we didn't really have a lot in common, and so we didn't stay in touch much; I remember he was a billion times smarter than me and actually in Applied Math, a library at McMaster is named after his grandfather, and he was much quieter than I was), was Jon, who I remain friends with to this day. Jon was from Toronto, and seemed so much more worldly, more savvy with the ladies, and just so much more completely confident in himself than I was -- a small-town kid a bit dazzled and dazed by the whole experience.

Post-secondary education is a valuable institution, of course. But if I'd stayed at home and, say, commuted to Western every day, I wouldn't have had anywhere close to the same experience I had. There's something really valuable about stepping outside your comfort zone, going to a place where you know nobody (a couple of guys from my high school went to Waterloo as well, but we hardly saw each other), and just dunking yourself in. It's not so scary, though -- you're surrounded by people who are in the exact same situation as you are, and who are (probably) also jazzed about learning and experiencing new things.

The kids that I teach who are in grade 12 and are on the doorstep of the rest of their lives... well... I must admit, I'm a little envious of their position. They're about to discover this giant new world, full of people they never dreamt existed, and experiences they never thought they might have. It's a little scary, but it's mostly great -- like a lot of the best things in life.

But, there's a time and a place for everything, and for me that time has passed. I've learned from my experiences, grew as a person, and am now the amazing dude I am, sitting here on my couch, alternately typing this and taking sips of coffee.

Twenty years, though. Wow.