Aj Schwanz

My mother will laugh, or wonder outloud, at the placement of this picture on my site. ìWhy would I have a picture of that building, knowing all of our history surrounding it?î Well, thatís why - history: lots of it.

The scene is Newberg, Oregon, at Pacific College founded by local Quakers. It later became George Fox College, and then George Fox University, but I donít really know all the details. I should, since I was present for the centennial as well as the college to university name change, but I had more interesting things going on like wondering when I could escape the boring history talk and run over to 7-Eleven to get a slurpee.

I have made annual treks to this campus for as long as I can remember. At the age of two or three my folks loaded up the car, and we began our first of many trips for the annual yearly meeting sessions. We marveled at Oregonís lack of air conditioning (bought our first fan over here, affectionately known as The Yearly Meeting Fan) and Newbergís lack of one-stop shopping (Freddyís didnít invade until we moved here in the nineties).

In high school my trips to campus generally consisted of seeing a play put on by the drama department, taking part in Yearly Meeting sessions, playing in the Yearly Meeting sponsored volleyball tournament, or maybe visiting a few friends who had graduated from high school and moved all of a mile to take classes at Fox.

And yes, Iím one of those who chose to move that grand mile. I wasnít sure where I wanted to go to college, until I visited Whitworth: it was in February during the flood season, I had a hole in my pair of ìgoodî shoes - needless to say, my experience wasnít pleasant, and I decided Fox would be a fine school for me. I knew the campus, I knew most of the staff (either attended my church or were my friendsí parents or both), I wouldnít have to go through that whole adjustment period - just slide on through.

College sucked. Really. I could try to paint it eloquently, talking about the defining times of going out on your own, learning to navigate the waters of living with others, spending hours of luxurious agony discerning my call in life. Basically: I didnít know what I wanted to do, I hated living with lots of girls (I mean, who would actually like it? All those hormones and baggage - both physical and emotional: gives me the willies just thinking about it), I was burned out from doing too many activities, I was freaking out that I didnít know what in the world to do with my life. So I spent my time skipping class, freaking out that Iíd flunk out, hanging out with folks who felt the same way, and feeling guilty that I was ìsquandering awayî my college experience (my mama worked her patootie off at Fox so I could go for free - see the levels of guilt I should feel?).

I managed to squeak out: oh, the nightmares I had before graduation. Itís not fun getting your diploma holder and not knowing if thereís actually one in there. I spent some time away from the rain drain that is Oregon. And yet I came back. To live in Oregon. To work. . . . at Fox. I was looking for something different to do with my life: either move or change jobs or something. My folks were kind enough to offer their abode while I sorted things out. I also happened to be dating a cute bass player who was living in Beaverton at the time, and we werenít sure where things were going with that, but itís a lot easier to figure out a few miles apart than a few states.

I got one job at Fox: it was amazing that I could find a job at all - Oregon still has quality levels of unemployment. It was working in the Security Office - definitely not my call in life, but something that brought in a paycheck while I could spend time doing other things, like planning a wedding (yeah, things did kinda work out with that bass player). And then I ìinheritedî a different job: my momís. She was going to be student teaching and needed to simplify her life. I applied for her job, and I got it - well, I got a job in the Admissions office supporting the Executive Director, which was one element of her job - the other elements got farmed out.

It was a great year: I loved working in that office. It wasnít necessarily my call in life, again (I donít know anyone whoís really called to balance budgets, but you never know), but I loved the community, had a great boss, and liked working so close to the home I shared with the bass player.

Then, lo and behold, a Little Bassplayer came along, I relinquished my job, and my husband ìinheritedî it - except it wasnít really my job at all: the director changed the position from being his assistant to being the IT guy for the Admissions office (heís a great boss - sacrificing for the greater good).

So I visit George Fox at least weekly, to see my bass player and his co-workers, to let the Little Bassplayer roam around the offices greeting people, to take advantage of my alumni library card, and to sit at the tables outside of the student union looking at the clock tower and being amazed at the amount of history I have with this location. Times have been good; times have been horrid; but they all are foundational in the person that I am today.

In a few short minutes, Iíll be taking my son to Yearly Meeting for the first time: taking him onto campus to start creating his own memories that we share together and yet experience differently. Iím excited.