By Tim Haggerty

“I want to go into politics to help people.” Sure you do. And I go to the cafeteria because I like the food.

On Aug. 29, about 1400 SFS future presidents of the United States of America moved into dormitories on the hilltop. By the end of one semester, most of them had already found at least 37 activities to place on their ever-expanding resumes.

In four years, the day of reckoning will come. We will see if the ideals that Georgetown was founded on – the pursuit of truth and education of the whole person – have supplanted the hopes that we brought along with our khaki pants, sweaters and clock radios on move-in day – the pursuit of power and “importance.”

As little kids, we wanted to be teachers, firemen, policemen, astronauts and soldiers. We chose these noble fields because we had seen how our lives could be affected by those in them. Maybe it was Officer Al who came into our second grade class and told us how to be safe on Halloween. Maybe it was that kindergarten teacher who told us that it is ok to color outside of the lines. Maybe it was GI Joe, who always got the bad guys.

But by the time we reached college, we had realized that the real world is different than it seemed through our young, naive eyes. Maybe it was the Challenger explosion. Maybe it was the Gulf War. Whatever.

Now we want to go to Congress. Now we want to sit in the Oval Office. We want everyone to see our faces in the morning paper. We want our names in the books that someone else reads to our children in kindergarten while someone else protects us when the bad guys come.

They build monuments to presidents. Policemen retire with a gold watch and a golf vacation to Arizona.

This isn’t the real world. Not everyone can be the president. But that doesn’t mean that everyone can’t be a sleazy politician.

Everyone around here knows everything. It is really pretty cool, but I also wonder how it is possible. Map of the Modern World, the dreaded freshman SFS class is just an excuse to teach SFSers that there is never a reason to say “I don’t know.” Instead, they say “Obviously … I thought everyone knew that.” Never ask anyone in the SFS anything. While you are at it, don’t bother telling them anything either, because they already knew it.

Everyone around here can name-drop with the best of `em. They can sound so cool about it, too. “Yeah, my dad just told me that Al Gore just called for some advice. And my dad put him on hold because Chief Justice Rehnquist was on the other line.” I am not impressed, and I don’t even pretend to be. I want to tell them that: 1. I don’t care. 2. Get a life. 3. I don’t care.

I just met a guy who told me that in order to come to Georgetown he had to resign as mayor of his town of 74,938 and vacate his position as the starting second baseman for the New York Mets. He offered to sign my hat for free.

I like the guys that take resume building like it is a four credit class. Sure, their niche-clubs are a waste of space (thought, there must be some need for the “Future Sleazy, Lying, Crooked Politicians Club.”) What employer wouldn’t be impressed by the founder and president of the “Students Advocating the reform of GUSUN?”

Look at GUSA. About 492 freshmen ran for seats on it, and not one of them knew what it was. It seems clear after Common Sense that no one has any idea what GUSA is. But everyone wants to able to say that they reformed it.

I didn’t come to college because I thought that it would take me to where I want to be in the future. I came to college because I thought that it could help me discover where I want to be in the future.

Here, we can explore to find the truth in ourselves (or, we can listen to the First Alumnus who tells us that the truth is overrated).

People who won’t be the next president of the United States are handing out food to the homeless. We will probably never know their names – and this is the way that they want it. They want to help people. And they don’t put it on their resumés.

Tim Haggerty is a Hoya Staff Writer.

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