False security preferred by students but realities await
TCU students prefer to live within the TCU bubble rather than face the reality of the world outside.
COMMENTARY
Jenny Specht

Long, long ago, at a Halloween carnival, I remember standing in “the bubble,” a kitchen stepstool planted firmly in the middle of a children's plastic wading pool filled with dishwashing detergent and a hula hoop. I waited as two mothers smiled wanly and lifted the pink striped toy of their youth up, up, over my head until I was surrounded with a protective iridescent wall.

Of course, then it popped. All bubbles pop, eventually, although I believe that there is a new children's concoction which creates clear orbs that will balance on a tip of a blade of grass, on your finger even. But real bubbles — the kind in bubble baths, bubble wrap, toy bubbles, bubble gum, the kind that provide insulation and fun — are all made to burst.

At TCU, we have our own kind of iridescent wall, the so-called “TCU bubble.”

It's the bubble where life is simple and reality is suspended; where a swipe of your I.D. card will purchase “free” Lancome makeup, where girls lay, without fear, on Colby Beach in their bathing suits, where friendly smiles pervade, flowers never fade, and the issue which causes the most unrest is bad cafeteria food.

I’ve always known this sense of security is false, but never regretted it; never regretted our arrogant attitude that what is inside Neiman's is more important than what is inside the newspaper.

There is an allure to screening out harshness and tuning in to a world of privilege and safety; however, a few bits of change have seeped in to 76129 the past few months.

I think we were all affected in one way or another by one of the many stories that arose from TCU this summer while many of us were away from school, stories that proved we as a campus are not infallible.

We experienced the Stonegate purchase that exposed unfounded prejudices; the attacks and arrest of a local serial rapist; the arrest of a TCU football player; the tragic deaths of fellow students. Our skin has absorbed this news into our college portfolio of remembrances and impressions.

Personally, I wrecked my car, and while it was an event much, much lower on the scale of tragedy than the happenings above, it was a shock to my system.

I found myself driving timidly, knuckles white on the steering wheel, found myself locking three deadbolts on my apartment door at night, looking behind myself while walking alone, beyond caution to the realm of paranoia.

But shocks are temporary, and I wonder how long it will be until I wantonly speed down the highway and TCU forgets the outside world again.

I'd like us to remember at least for awhile that no one, nothing is untouchable, but in a choice between the ignorant pretense that we at TCU are a world unto our own and the acceptance that there are no boundaries to misfortune, I think we'd all choose to deceive ourselves by believing the former. I think we all to some point seek the safety of a bubble.

After all, we all chose to attend TCU.

Jenny Specht is a senior English and political science major from Fort Worth.