Always Read Your Letter before Your Mail It.

I sit at the top of the head of the table; me, recruitment chair, next to the President, Vice- President, Treasurer, Secretary, and New Member Educator. Fifty three girls down the rows, wrapped around the room, all valuable members.  There are some blondes, brunettes, black, whites, Spanish, Asian; just a pool of diversity. A sorority, filled with different voices, opinions, and ideas; all formed together as one, trying to make a difference be the best we possibly can be. How could anyone stereo type a sorority? There are so many positive characteristics involved in it. I began to doze off during my meeting.

I brought myself back to me, at age fourteen, trying to figure out what the large hot pink letters imprinted on the girls shirts in my favorite movie, House Bunny really meant. “Those are Greek letters stupid.” I remember my cousin Gia saying to me as I pictured myself in the same exact shirt. I asked her what Greek letters meant, why Greek? Why not Spanish letters or Italian? “Greek letters represent the sorority girls are in, you don’t want to be in one of those, there a bunch of dumb sluts who pay for their friends.” I ignored her. How would she know anyway? I mean, she was only fifteen at the time, exactly one year and twenty eight days older than me. She was only a sophomore in high school, how would she know what college sorority life was like?

As each member in my sorority went through her agenda, I noticed and felt the rash on my finger begin to act up again. The doctor said this should only happen when I start to feel a wave of stress. I am always stressed, so what does that matter. “October 19^th is Homecoming, so be there at 7:30 A.M to help set up our table and practice our song; judges will be at our table by 11: 00 A.M.” Lauren, the head of our homecoming events, said sternly, making it clear that it was crucial we were there on time. “October 20^th we need to be at the Autism Walk at 11:00 A.M for registration, and October 26^th is the Lymphoma Walk in Morristown at 5:00 P.M and October 27^th is the Breast Cancer walk at 10:00 A.M in Edison,” our philanthropy chair reiterated. Philanthropy is a specific charity one chooses to donate to, in our case, we enjoy group walks. As I wrote all of my upcoming events down in my agenda I noticed the tip of my fingers losing their firm grip. We have not even gone through half of everyone’s positions, am I going to have time to breathe this week?

“I got accepted for a Bid into Θ ΦA!” Brianna, my best friend said to me while I was away at Bloomsburg University in Pennsylvania, a lonely, eighteen year old, freshman, wishing I was at home with my best friend. But, what were those letters and symbols in that text message. I thought about House Bunny, and the hot pink letters on the girls’ shirts, but those weren’t it; maybe these were letters from another specific background, like secret code Asian letters or something. “Theta Phi Alpha is a sorority on campus, it is the best one and I am going to be a part of it!” Brianna explained further what she was joining, and I was wrong, it wasn’t secret code for Asian letters, it was a sorority, Greek letters, the letters I had always wanted. I wanted to have fun and wear those letters. I didn’t know whether I was extremely happy for my best friend, or just jealous that I could not wear those shirts.

One by one, each sister shoots out more dates for us to write in our agendas. Not even noticing that half of the girls are wearing the same letters; matching, representing what family line she falls under in our sorority. Meanwhile, I forgot to wear letters today, hopefully no one would notice. I mean, I am a senior, trying to graduate in May. My mind runs nonstop throughout the day, how could everyone expect me to attend all of these events, fundraise, receive dean’s list, and work thirty hours a week?

“Kris, if you are that unhappy at school, transfer home to Kean, and join my sorority, everyone will love you and you will never be happier.” Brianna said to me as I continuously cried to her about how homesick I was away at Bloomsburg. I thought about it that night and woke up feeling like I was on cloud nine. That is it. I am transferring home and joining that sorority, Theta Alpha something, whatever I didn’t care. I was going to wear those shirts, just like the girls in House Bunny. Yes, that was going to be me, living in a house and partying on frat row, just what I had always hoped for. Me and all of the letters I could possibly imagine.

As our meeting approaches the end, I look over at my little, Samm. “Littles,” in sorority terms is similar to a little sister through actual blood. But “Littles” in sorority terms are treated like our children. It’s complicated. Samm is a sophomore, without a position, living life to the fullest. She is having the best time of her life and has minimal distractions. She wears her letters proud and as often as possible.

As soon as I finally was accepted into my sorority the only thing I was concerned about were those letters on those shirts I saw in House Bunny. I wanted my OWN letters, and that was final. After spending hundreds and probably thousands of dollars on a new wardrobe, I officially had the most letters out of my entire sorority. I managed to top the record by the middle of my junior year. That was me, “Krissy-Girl,” the one with the most letters, and usually the silliest in the bunch. What else mattered?

I’m a senior now, one of the top six leaders in my sorority, worrying about the respect, financial stability and overall happiness of my sisters. I don’t even remember the last time I made letters. I do not have time for that, I am too busy with everything else on my plate.

“You don’t know shit girl, you’re just a dumbass sorority chic who has no priorities in life but partying and drinking.” This comment stuck with me like hot glue. It was a few days after Hurricane Sandy had hit, one of the only places around school with power was the local football house. Me, judging the large, obnoxious football player in front of me, started discussing overall grade point averages. For what reason, I could not tell you. I shot a comment at him about being a stupid jock, not thinking twice about it. I made my way towards the exit as soon as I was referred to as a “dumbass sorority chic,” quite frankly; I was a hell of a lot more than that.

I stare at Samm and see myself. I see myself two years ago, an innocent blonde sophomore. Not realizing the importance and differences around me. She is new to the sorority, but definitely knows more then I knew, or cared about at her age. I catch myself dozing off before the meeting is even over. All of this reminiscing on what I thought this was all about definitely took a toll on me.

I knew when I woke up the next morning, still angered from that stupid jock; that my perspective towards my sorority had changed. A dumbass sorority chick that has no priorities in life. Damn. Is that what people see? Don’t they know what we do throughout the week? Months? Years? I paused as reality hit me like an eighteen wheeler. Letters. That’s all I cared about, that is all I saw. How could I be mad at him for what he said? In reality, he saw more than I did. Although what he said was not true. How would he know the truth of something he was not a part of?

The meeting was finally brought to an end, and I was snapping out of my day dreams. I think to myself and try to summarize everything that just went on during that meeting: philanthropies’, fundraisers, sisterhood events, so many things to do, but valuable and productive enough to dedicate my time to.  Collecting my thoughts, I bring myself back to that night of hurricane Sandy. How dare he say that about me, about my sorority, about my sisters? He doesn’t know what being part of a sorority means at all. After all, he’s just a stupid jock who only cares about himself and his own ego, right?