Ah, the second semester of the year. Finally settled into dorms and apartments, the lines at… Ah, the second semester of the year. Finally settled into dorms and apartments, the lines at the bookstore have dwindled down to the slacking few and students can be spotted nodding off in classrooms across campus already.

To the eager freshmen who survived their arrival here at Pitt in the fall, I commend you. You have passed your first test. No doubt your parents assisted you in this feat, your mother breaking down in tears as she made your bed, your father pulling you close for a warm embrace and asking if you need more money before they drove away.

Yeah, that’ll change.

Entering my junior year, last fall I had the joy of moving into Bouquet Gardens. This time around, my parents slowed the car just enough for me to grab some of my belongings before tucking and rolling out onto the pavement as they flung the rest of my stuff after me, using the back of my head as a target.

But listen, my children, and you shall hear the embarrassing tale of my freshman year, and why this drop-off at Pitt was a welcome adjustment.

The braces had barely been popped off my teeth as I sat in the front seat between my parents, grinning idiotically at the big, bad world of the University of Pittsburgh as we entered what my parents still refer to as the “big city” of Oakland. After a mere hour or two of looping around Forbes and Fifth trying to find the Litchfield Towers – yeah, it was that pitiful – we pulled into a parking lot loaded with fraternity brothers in brightly colored Arrival Survival shirts.

My parents climbed out and I slid across the bench seat, stumbling out of the car, all the while staring at a fraternity brother who appeared to have a beautiful aura about him. The brothers pointed my mother and me toward the Towers to rent a cart, and offered to help my dad unload the car.

I walked to the lobby in a daze, fantasizing about the gorgeous fraternity brother offering his family’s prize cow and $500 to my father in exchange for my hand in marriage. So this is what college was like. Life was beautiful.

Five minutes or so later, give or take 30 seconds, my mother and I arrived back at the car, rented cart and key to my room in tow. The fraternity brothers helped load my belongings into the cart and offered further assistance in helping us to my room.

Miracle of miracles, I ended up pulling up the rear with the love of my life, who turned to me in our first stolen moment of privacy and passionately whispered:

“So, you wrote a speech about sexually transmitted diseases in high school, eh?”

Followed by a snicker and an elbow jab to his frat buddy.

I was nothing short of mortified. In the five minutes that I had left my future husband, my father had revealed the dorkiest secret of my life: I had not only written a speech in high school about sexually transmitted diseases and the alarming prevalence among teenagers, but I also competed in public speaking tournaments with it. Why didn’t my dad tell him I was captain of the Reading Team and led them to three consecutive first place wins in junior high while he was at it?

A sort of numbness took over my body. I know that my face must have been glowing the red color of the neon sign for the “O.”

I barely noticed that my father did not allow anyone else on the elevator once we finally got one, manning it as though he were the Skipper on a private vessel to the 20th floor of Tower B. Or the fact that he tipped each fraternity brother a dollar for his help.

I’d like to tell you that I became a well-adjusted Pitt student following that tragic day, but it’s simply not true. To this day, whenever I see a brother from that fraternity, he is sure to yell:

“Hey, STD girl!”

I swear a freshman that I have never met did it just the other day.

So, congratulations well-adjusted freshmen. And remember to keep the tuck-and-roll drop-off in mind for next year. After all, it’s never too late for a dad to mark you with a scarlet letter – or three.

For the record, Jessica Prynne has had a clean bill of health in all her years of college. For directions to Student Health, e-mail Jessica at