I just watched Battle for Tobacco Road: Duke vs. Carolina AGAIN with chills running up and down my spine, wanting to step onto the quad and smell the sweet Carolina air. But I am ashamed to say: I was a UNC-CH student, and I never set foot in the Dean Dome. I was pretty much the only UNC-CH student with no school spirit whatsoever.
My first choice for continuing education was Brown University. I was devastated when I wasn’t accepted. I’d applied to two other schools - Wake Forest and Carolina - and had been accepted to both. I almost didn’t choose Carolina because every single one of my older cousins who lived in NC had gone there in one capacity or another (Si, Jin, Sein, Ki for med school, Kathy, and Sol - subsequently, all of my younger cousins and my little brother attended as well) and I wanted to break from the pack. The great education (for the bargain price) I’d receive was irresistible, so the decision was made for me.
I was not able to get into a single basketball game my freshman year, so I gave up trying. I hated my freshman year. I was homesick and alone; feeling like a complete outsider and bitterly annoyed with the heavy partying and hooking up that seemed to be going on all around me in Ehringhaus Dorm. The cliques that I’d been so afraid of in high school just got more numerous, specialized (lacrosse groupies?!) and better looking, and there was an unbearable amount of Shania Twain blasting out of my suitemate’s room and aside from a few kind souls, I was unable to get a foothold at my new school.
Before the end of my freshman year, I lucked upon a flyer hanging on a kiosk, and I auditioned for a local improv troupe. There, I made lifelong friends and met my husband. My sophomore year at Carolina was one of the best years of my life.
From there on out, I had a great time - dressing up for Halloween on Franklin Street, writing for my Creative Writing classes (with the amazing Sarah Dessen and Marianne Gingher as teachers), working at A Southern Season, performing in the UNC Orchestra and Cello Choir, editing my short film in the UNC Comm Dept, and playing the bit part in “The Country Wife” my last year there - all the while, not really watching basketball games except the matchups with Duke. NO ONE, not even the big nerds like me, missed the matchups with Duke. There just wasn’t any other place to be.
I moved to Los Angeles with about ten other recent graduates in the Hollywood Internship sponsored by the Communications Department. I grew nostalgic for Shania Twain. Some of the best friends I’ve ever had were Tarheels that I didn’t even meet until I moved to LA. There are a lot of us out here. My first boss who gave me my first break in television did so because I was the intern from his beloved alma mater.
My interest in UNC Basketball has grown exponentially since I’ve left because it’s the most visible part of my school and my state, both of which I had to learn to love. I now have fierce pride in where I’m from and where I was lucky enough to go to school. That’s how Tarheels tend to roll. Michael Jordan wore his Carolina number on his Bulls uniform. The school of journalism is named for alumnus Charles Kuralt, who is buried on campus grounds. Ironically, the school where for a time I felt so different is the reason I now feel like I’m really a part of something special. It’s hard not to appreciate how cool your school is, when your school is as cool as mine. I was attending at the same time as Vince Carter, for crying out loud.
Like I always say, I wasn’t a Tarheel born, but I was sure as hell a Tarheel bred. Congrats on your National Championship, my team, my heart, my home.
