I have no doubt, dear reader, that you are a fabulously multicultural melange of intellectual vivacity and animal charm. We live, I heard somewhere, in an increasingly interconnected world, where groovy beings like you nibble Spanish pastries while sipping Argentine yerba mate tea, tapping your Chinese slipper-clad feet to Mongolian electro-pop. I'm sure your personal history is a rich tapestry of cultures, styles and carnal positions. Certainly you're fluent in three languages, competent in another two and know enough of another four to order the local delicacy flirtatiously in little hole-in-the-wall cafes.
Some of us are not so effortlessly cosmopolitan. I myself, for example, despite half a decade spent as an alien (I like to think that I hide my antennas fairly well), remain a hopeless remnant of Ye Olde Worlde. Deeply fond as I am of Taco Bell, "30 Rock" and the Redskins, all pale in comparison with crumpets, Wodehouse and rugby. My (American) wife is under strict instructions to take extreme measures if ever she hears me use the word "pants" to refer to anything other than underwear. For your reading pleasure, I allow all the beautiful ‘u's to be taken from my words and buzzing ‘z's to be inserted in place of sensuous ‘s's — but don't think it doesn't sting.
Let me say right now, however, through a mouth metaphorically still full of leftovers, that I love Thanksgiving. I say this despite — in fact, probably precisely because of — my cartoonish Englishness. As far as I'm aware, I'm the only member of my family to have crossed the Atlantic on a semi-permanent basis, so we're not implicated in any of the horrors that came after the pilgrims sat down with the Native Americans. To me, therefore, Thanksgiving as a holiday means excessive caloric intake, excessive sitting and a dog show. The lack of gift-giving pressure makes it all the sweeter.
One thing my antennas have picked up, however, is that Thanksgiving seldom involves Giving much Thanks. I get it. My family Christmases never saw us Mas much Christ either. But while still in my Tofurkey- and Holiday Spirit on the rocks-addled state, I'd like to use this final column of the year to, well, to give thanks. And what I'd really like is to encourage you, dear reader, to do the same.
I've been at Brown for four-and-a-half years. That time has comprised some heady highs and some lows that I'd rather not contemplate. I spent the remainder of the pre-Brown decade at other universities, and one thing I've learned is that while lovers (yuck), friends and pizza are our main propellants through the occasionally murky waters of university life, they can't do it all. (I've tried carrying a backpack full of pizza around all day, and while it really does help get one through a boring lecture, it can also encourages others to question one's personal hygiene in a way that undoes much of the good work done by all that cheesy, crusty goodness.)
Allow me, then, to give thanks publicly to a number of people around the University who have brightened my 1,600-odd days on campus. It can't encompass everyone: My hope is that you'll do likewise with the people who make your time a little more pleasant. (Think of it as a rogue Diamonds and Coal, but on a grad student salary.)
Paul Bergeron at the University pharmacy is always unfailingly friendly and helpful (as are all the pharmacy staff), and even once mentioned enjoying one of my previous columns, thus putting him among the high-rolling company of my wife, my mother and … no one.
All of us involved with the history department know very well that, regardless of tenure and fancy fellowships, Cherrie Guerzon, Mary Beth Bryson and Julissa Bautista are in charge. Trying to ensure that a group of academics (and wannabe academics) do what they're supposed to is like herding a gaggle of particularly vocal cats, and these ladies keep things under control with unfailing grace and good humor.
The University library system is a labyrinthine institution full of fine people doing wonderful things to bring us books, digital collections and, erm, sofas. The circulation staff at the Rock frequently perform kind acts that make our lives easier. When one requires more specialist help, however, the Hay is the place. For those of us interested in European history and culture, Dominique Coulombe has long been a fabulous guide to the available resources.
Thank you, then, to all of these people and everyone else who helps to make the University feel more like a small college and less like the large corporation it in fact is. Thank you for sharing your expertise and your generosity of spirit. And thank you for your tact in never mentioning my antennas.
Stephen Wicken GS, a fifth-year doctoral candidate in history, would also like to thank you for reading this far. He can be reached at stephen_wicken (at) brown.edu.
