Editor
Another pair of white ear buds walk past me. Class just let out and I am headed from Humanities to the Science Center. Yet as I start the walk across Memorial Lawn, there seems to be an absence of the smiles and pleasant greetings characteristic of a walk through a small-campus school like Choate; rather, I am greeted by blank stares. I try to speak to one of the pairs of ear buds, but get no response. I try again, louder this time, but to no avail; the ear buds just continue their trek up the hill. So I too move on—confused and, to be honest, a tad hurt.
This situation has been occurring with increasing frequency across the Choate campus. Walking from class to class, it’s hard to miss the multitude of vacuous faces—the telltale symptom of an iPod-aholic. I understand why listening to an iPod between classes is tempting. We’re teenagers, so we like listening to music by default. And in the stressful world of disappointing grades and unwritten college essays, an iPod can offer momentary relief. Put on the ear buds and instantly you escape into the tunes of the Black Eyed Peas, drowning away your sorrows in catchy tunes and edgy hip-hop beats. But as iPods and other MP3 players have become exponentially more popular, the Choate campus has become quieter and quieter.
Choate is supposed to be a community. We have Choate sports teams, Choate pep-rallies, and Choate all-school meetings. We have community lunches to introduce students from one form to students in the other forms. We have traditions like Deerfield Day to build school spirit. What makes going to Choate so enjoyable is the relationships we build here. Our community is apart from other schools by the sense of closeness within our student and faculty bodies—and an integral part of that atmosphere lies in the salutations exchanged along school sidewalks and paths. But when so many people transitioning between classes are listening to music, we lose that sense of community entirely.
My freshman year, Choate was a friendlier place. It appeared (at least to me) that everyone knew everyone else, and that all the students would talk to each other. Even the big, intimidating seniors would take a moment to say ‘hi’ to the freshman as they passed. It was easy to how much students cared about their peers, and the school. But now everyone lives in a bubble far smaller than Choate.
At the first school meeting of this year, Mr. Yankus told us that no one even looks up as he walks past anymore. Perhaps the issue isn’t a lack of friendliness, but rather the prevalence of iPods on campus. If we all just took those little white ear buds out of our ears, we would better appreciate a wealth of friendly faces and conversation that we would otherwise ignore. Perhaps we would realize that entertainment and pleasure can come from sources other than an electronic device.
The school forbids us to use cell phones around campus in an effort to build community. Cell phones, however, are not the problem—iPods are. At least cell phones foster interpersonal relations.
