A freshman’s first day of classes should be filled with merriment and wonder – a day one will not easily forget. My first day of classes was definitely memorable, but not exactly for the most conventional of reasons.  That morning, I was bestowed the distinct privilege (or punishment?) of viewing Vandy wildlife up close and personal in its most raw of forms.
As I crossed Peabody Lawn, I observed my environment: clear azure skies, majestic trees with gold-trimmed name tags (classy, right?), and Sperry clad “bros” rushing off to their 1st 8:10 Chemistry lectures and “other” locals. Despite all of these exhilarating sights, what happened to catch my eye was a lone squirrel across the lawn, foraging for nuts and, well, trash. Suddenly, from seemingly nowhere, a hawk descends, picks up its furry prey, and sails off into the blue yonder. Needless to say, I was scared shitless.
Though I was completely shocked, no one else around me seemed to notice anything amiss. It’s always times like these when you look around for reassurance and, of course, no one else has seen a thing. “Oh my God, did you see that hawk attack that squirrel?!”, “What hawk?”, “The hawk that just flew by,” “No, I didn’t see anything,” “@#*$%!” I felt so alone. But, someone else had to have seen something, right? This couldn’t have been the first hawk attack on campus. In a recent discussion with Professor Marshall Eakin at an East House dinner, I came to find out that hawk sightings, while rare, have occurred on campus before. This has led me to believe that this illustrious bird is our own Vanderbilt brand of Bigfoot: mysterious and deadly.
How can we sit back quietly as this hawk assassin goes unpunished? Our squirrel population would plummet drastically. With no squirrels, who else would unexpectedly pop out of the trashcans? We don’t have nearly enough homeless midgets to keep up that kind of initiative. And who says this ever-elusive hawk will stop with the squirrels? Chipmunks, small French dogs, and babies of every variety are all at risk. The Juggling club would no longer be able to practice outdoors and no longer dazzle passersby on their journey to class. Vanderbilt Frisbee culture would perish leading to higher alcohol and drug consumption statistics (because if you can’t play Frisbee, what else is there to do?).  Who knows? This hawk may even develop the audacity to build its nest near the site of the initial attack.  Public feather burnings in acknowledgment of the event would ensue across campus.
Furthermore, could this traumatic event be a warning from the cosmic universe? Was fate knocking at the door of my subconscious? Obviously, that welcoming feeling that Vanderbilt worked so hard to establish during orientation was out the window by this point. Am I, Kelley Raven Hines, the little squirrel soon to be devoured by Vanderbilt society?!  Would I lose myself and morph into a “Vandy girl?” Trade in my “oh-so original” Converses for a pair of cowboy boots? Eh, probably not, but it sure as hell made me think about why I’m here and what I came to accomplish.
As you can see, I’ve put way too much thought into this. So, in conclusion (actually, you should never use the phrase “in conclusion”. It makes English majors want to step on kittens. But anyway…), I’ll leave my fellow class of 2014 with a little advice: be smart, be yourselves, work hard, and look out, because a giant bird might kill you.