As a guy with guy anatomy, the sensations of childbirth will forever be foreign to me. But last weekend, amidst Traveling Treasure Trunk auditions, I came closer to experiencing the miracle of birth than I ever had before. I’m assuming, of course, that I won’t by some extreme misfortune have to pass a kidney stone or endure any of Yahoo Answers’s suggestions for “male equivalencies of pregnancy.” They’re unpleasant.
I joined Tufts Traveling Treasure Trunk, a children’s theatre troupe not to be confused with the academic portal (Trunk vs. Trunk, eh), last spring and have only recent become acquainted with the rigors of the audition process from the judgers’ perspective. What manifested in nerves and an absolute sureness in my failure last year as an auditionee (which isn’t, but should be a word), this year transformed into a blend of exhaustion, agony, and ecstasy. Think nonstop 8am to 12am days. Yes, plural.
The feeling I’m trying describe, I can only guess, is something like a physically painless mode of childbirth; new members are, after all, termed “babies” for a reason. They’re adorably inexperienced, adorably eager, and just plain adorable. Additionally and importantly, however, the struggle to bring new life to clubs and performance groups isn’t all enjoyable.
The toil, devotion, and commitment each member of Trunk offered to collectively give birth is what made the process possible to begin with. It exemplifies the extraordinary importance extracurriculars can hold in collegiate life - there will always be groups, friends, and groups of friends worth spending an entire weekend on. Even if this means skipping your daily dose of Netflix and that one opportunity to sleep-in.
It also demonstrates the extreme care with which sophomores and upperclassmen handle freshmen, the future leaders who will, in time, replace the existing oligarchies and club eboards. Taking such care makes sense; it’s only natural to delight in the young enthusiasm of babes, and that, coupled with the perpetuation of a group such as Trunk, is well enough to care about.
In high school there was a stereotype of the conceited, uninterested upperclassman who wouldn’t be seen socializing with wee freshman lest it taint his badass reputation. I’m happy to share that that isn’t a problem at Tufts. The school elders, the cool, intimidating kids, are invested in Tufts like they want the newbies to be. They occupy the spaces, the clubs and activism groups, they want future students to occupy.
Really, we all (we all: a population of Tufts students I think I can generalize in some accuracy) want protégés and we all want what we invest time into to live on like the Tucks, in eternal youth. Fostering an involved freshman class, not that they need much motivating, is integral.
So, when Trunk auditions swaths of freshmen looking for the select few to carry on the tradition, its choice has blossomed from a scrupulous and holistic procedure. We care about all of the freshman, so by extension we’re thorough. And therein lies the agony. 8am to 12am, man.
It’s a good thing sort-of-giving-birth is such a rewarding college experience. Here’s to next semester!