By Maggie Gordon

Not long ago, I was in their shoes — mine killed my feet by the way. In fact, it was only a year ago that I graduated from Berne-Knox-Westerlo with the class of 2004.

I remember the weeks of anticipation leading up to the ceremony, and the tears, though I told myself I wasn’t going to cry. I remember my mother’s proud face when we met in the atrium at The Egg after the ceremony, and posing for pictures with my best friend, Leanne — who had actually discarded her painful shoes and crossed the stage barefoot.

The day was bittersweet. I knew I was moving on to a new life, one which was bringing me to a college I had dreamed of for years, a college four times larger than my town.

But I had to say good-bye to many people. I said good-bye to my cheerleading coach, who had been like a mother to me when my own mother was battling an aggressive form of cancer. I said good-bye to my newspaper advisor, who had taught me so much and promised me bigger and better. I said goodbye to the quiet, safe hallways of B-K-W which had protected me, and I said good-bye to the part of myself that had been sheltered.

I was moving on. I was growing up.

It was two months and one day later that my mother, father, sister, and I took two over-loaded cars to Syracuse University, a place where, for the first time, everybody wouldn’t know my name.

I’ll admit it: I was a little scared that I wouldn’t fit in when I got to school. I was afraid that I would be different from everyone else. I was sure that, upon meeting me, everyone would know I was a country bumpkin, and they would think I didn’t belong.

Wide horizons

In one year, I have made some valuable friendships. I have two friends in particular, one from Silver Spring, Md., outside of Washington, D.C. and another from Long Island, both of whom I met through the Honors Program.

These new friendships have helped me to learn so much. We have so many differences — religion, background, and economic status — something I never really encountered while growing up in the Hilltowns, yet one of the most important things I have ever experienced.

We also have a lot in common. We are all enrolled in Newhouse, the communications school at Syracuse University. We were all in the same Communications and Society class, and we are all loyal Syracuse basketball and football fans, who have, on occasion, showed up to games with blue and orange faces.
While my new friends could never replace my best friend — who has been by my side since we gave each other bloody noses in the third grade and walked to the nurse’s office hand in hand — they have brought a lot to my life. It reminds me of a song I learned in Girl Scouts: "Make new friends, but keep the old. One is silver, and the other gold."

I don’t know which one is silver, and which one is gold — that’s something I have been contemplating since I first learned the song about 15 years ago. I do know that both are precious.

Back to my tiny town

I’m back in Knox again, working at the Knox Country Store for my fourth summer; I’m back to a world where everybody knows my name. I’m interning at The Enterprise, my first real journalism gig, and I’m back to a world where I can see the stars at night.
When I first returned for the summer, I was a little scared of what it was going to be like. I was afraid that I might have outgrown the tiny town which had molded me into the person that I am today. Would my puppy, Milo McBeagle, even care that I was home" Had I changed"

Well, of course I had changed. After all, I save quarters for laundry now, I think re-heated pizza is a food group, and I don’t spend every cent of my money on shoes any more.

My friends have changed, too. They all came back with a life lesson or two, and I can tell that, like me, they’re a little more worldly than we all were one year ago.

Sometimes I can’t believe that it has been a whole year. Other times I can’t believe it has only been a year.

I was scared on that day one year ago, that what I was leaving behind would be gone forever — that I would never be the same, I would never fit into the place I left behind.

Now I see that I was worrying about nothing. Sure, I’m different, and my friends are different, and my parents’ hair is a little grayer now, but I still fit in, and I still belong here.

Home is where the heart is, so I guess this year what I learned is that I have two homes: Syracuse, and Knox.