There’s this fence.
It’s ungainly, ugly, bulbous and random. Apparently it is some kind of tradition. One of those school traditions that separate the people who care from the people who don’t. Well I have always been firmly in the “people who don’t” camp. Nothing wrong with overdeveloped school spirit, except for all the stuff wrong with it, and I have always maintained that this is a lot. Root for your basketball team? Great. Take off your shirt, paint yourself your school’s completely arbitrary colors, shout like you should be in an insane asylum, and wreck street signs if your team wins (or loses)? Not so great.
There’s this fence.
It is so thick with years of paint that it looks like someone stung the whole thing with the biggest spider in the world, and the swelling just hasn’t gone down. They paint it over and over again, each new group adding a layer of history and making the past layer invisible. There would be something sort of epic about this if I cared about these inane school traditions, but of course, I don’t.
There’s this fence.
It has silly rules. You can only paint it between midnight and dawn. You can’t use spray paint or it is considered vandalism. In order to paint the fence you have to “hold” the fence, and you can only do that by keeping two people in the vicinity at all times, straight through the night. Excuse me while I glance condescendingly and superciliously at those poor souls who take part in such a moronic tradition.
There’s this fence.
For three days, I was one of those poor souls taking part in such a moronic tradition. There was a tent. There was food. There was homework, there was music, there was friendship, there was even a little bit of romance but it all revolved around this fence—this fence that for three days represented more than a “moronic school tradition”, but instead represented life.
There’s this fence.
For a few days, so righteous a cause descended upon this fence that the ultimate school spirit cynic took part in the ultimate trite school tradition. I even slept the night. I’m 6’5”, I forgot my sweatshirt or a pillow, I had to work the next morning, and I was sleeping on the ground next to an infernal fence.
There’s this fence.
During the day, countless passers-by would glance over at us and the aforementioned palisade. Most would ignore it, a few would show some sign of disgust, a few would show some sign of silent agreement… and a few stopped and talked. Ranging from the undecided to the quite vehemently decided, there were hours of discourse. Some people didn’t understand it why it was a big deal, some people thought it was a big deal but just thought we were crazy. Well of course I’m crazy. I slept in a tent next to a fence.
There’s this fence.
And the fence, which ninety-nine times out of a hundred represents only the most trivial of human impulses, for a few days represented something that mattered, and forced people to think. Whether minds were changed is unknowable and unimportant. Whether minds were even affected is indeterminate. But minds were used. People who had never given the issue a second thought finally did. And even if their second thought was much the same as their first, you need to have a second thought before you can have a third. For three days we made people stop and consider. That isn’t any easy thing to do. What’s even more amazing is the instrument which made it all possible. You see,
There’s this fence…
Post contributed by Stephen Petrany, a member of the Pitt Students for Life.
