Two days in and I am not feeling jet lagged (hell, there is only 2 hours time difference). The seasonal change isn’t all that strange, since the pouring rain is reminiscent of a bad, warm Nome winter. Even the accent is not all that disconcerting as I am in a building full of international students, basically none of whom pronounce English the same. The woman across the hall sounds just like Nico. She is Asian. Figure that one out for me, please.

Old, however, I do feel. Channeling my internal Yoda for you as evidence. I have returned to college when I am twice the age of the influx of first-years swarming the streets and the gated-and-patrolled environs of our little trans-cultural think tank. It is not that I am treated cruelly; for the most part I simply don’t exist. Young people do not see you after a certain point, you become either a teacher or a visitor and the brain of the undergrad has no room for you, nothing to fear from you unless you stand before them in class describing grading systems, so you are simply not acknowledged.

If you stop one and insert yourself into their world the response is confusion. The space formerly filled with nothing now has a jabbering geriatric demanding their attention. The surprise is genuine, but it is usually followed by the worst reaction of all: respect.

There is something about walking down a street covered in the detritus of a four day party with several thousand kids away from home for the first time, a street that most people would fear to tread upon, especially at night, and to be treated with tolerant kindness. To have young men breaking bottles in the street turn at your approach and sheepishly stop, perhaps even muttering apologies. It is not because of my size, these are Polynesians, rugby players, rugby-playing Polynesians even. It is not that I have the theme from Shaft preceding me down the road like a psychic typhoon (though, of course, I do). It is my grey hair and obvious achievement of that “certain age”. They are nice to me because you are nice to old people.

It could be worse. I could be injured, taunted, chased. Respect is far from the worst fate we can achieve. But when returning to campus for the first time in 11 years, it is definitely disconcerting.