09/03/2021
By Kate Stone Lombardi
I feel sorry for today’s college students for many reasons, Covid among them. Next to the pandemic, this may seem minor, but I also feel sad that they are asked to respond to questionnaires about roommate preferences, with an eye towards finding like-minded kids with similar tastes in music, sleep schedules, or what have you.
At 17, had I filled one out, I might have gotten someone just like me. Me, in the mid-1970s, was a stew of sullen, anxious and anxious to please. My hair was parted in the middle, wavy and long. I wore no makeup, droopy clothes, and had a collection of sad music, heavy on Joni Mitchell’s “Blue”, along with Bob Dylan and the Grateful Dead.
But roommate assignments back then were random. The girl I would share my freshman year room with was blonde, exuberant, spoke in a heavy Southern accent (she was from Memphis). She had cute, girl-y clothes and listened to Elton John and Motown. She had fabulous dance moves and made friends wherever she went. Luckily, she brought me along with her and in the process brought me out of my self.
Forty seven years later, she is my “bestie.” We grew up together. We have laughed so hard together that no noise comes out – just the occasional squeak. We know each other’s families. When my son got married a few years ago, and I asked if my Roomie was on the guest list, he said, “Mom, she’s on the family list.” My Roomie and I have seen each other through so much.
This photo of the two of us was taken yesterday in Vermont. I never would have “found” this wonderful person myself. But Lord, I love my Roomie!