What Makes You Happy?

by Lee Coffin, Dean of Admissions

Im an optimist, one of those people who smiles when the alarm clock buzzes (or, in my case,
KISS 108 erupts into my darkened room). I know: Im a freak of nature. When I was a kid, my
persistent morning cheer was a vile tonic for my sister, who apparently plucked the grumpy gene
off our gnarled family tree. But I embrace my sunny disposition as a defining element of who I
am. I like to laugh and make others laugh. I love quick wit, wordplay and puns (Shakespeares
dismissive categorization be damned). Im the uncle who crawls around on the floor with my
nephews and nieces during family gatherings. My puppy is irresistible. So are potato chips. I
will find the up side of a situation rather than its worst-case scenario. In fact, a friend once
marveled Youre so eternally happy you would have been singing Tomorrow rather than
crying for help if you were the girl trapped in the pit in Silence of the Lambs. (Its an awful
scene in a thrilling film.) Hes probably right. Some people see an empty glass; I say, No,
theres a couple of sips left. Happiness is relative. Its a degree of comfort in ones own skin, an
ability to appreciate moments big (a ticket to Book of Mormon on Broadway with the original
cast) and small (an open bag of sea salt and pepper Kettle chips), a capacity towards kindness.
(Kind people tend to be happy.) Im a happy guy.

Let Your Life Speak

by Ben Hescott, Assistant Professor of Computer Science
My hometown in rural Michigan is famous for its blueberry festival. To be honest, I am not sure
why---by my count, this town of 6,336 people has fewer than 20 blueberry bushes. Sandwiched
between Flint and Saginaw, it is a place that has evolved from farms to factories in such a short
amount of time that the growing pains are obvious. The Shop, as General Motors is called,
employs most of my extended family and my friends parents. Working at The Shop is
considered a great job. Everyone in town thinks going to college is for eggheads.
Wanting to go to college is not the only thing that makes me stand out. I am one of three people
taking AP calculus and the only one to ever take the AP Literature exam. I am probably the only
student to be called into the principals office because of concerns about my lack of faith. I hope
that I am the only one thats been called a pinko-commie-faggot by his psychology teacher in
class. Now, calling our football coach who reads directly from the textbook a teacher is a bit of
a stretch, the story is true. No one is surprised that I want to go away to college. What may
surprise them is why. I am not trying to find people like me, quite the opposite, I want to find
people different than me.
And in case youre wondering, this pinko-commie-faggot likes blueberries.

What Makes You Happy?

by Daniele Lantagne, Assistant Professor of Civil and Environmental Engineering
My son's toothless smile and laugh when I zorbert his belly, watching his brain turn on and learn,
holding him while hes sleeping. Reaching the top of a mountain. The light as it falls through
trees on a hike, particularly in leaf season. The crisp, cool winter ocean air of Boston and
London. The feel of the air and color of the trees and sky in Seattle. Local food - berries in
summer, apples in fall, cider in winter. Cooking a meal with my partner and sharing it with
friends. Conversations over wine late into the night. Playing games Settlers and Pandemic.
Working out hard on the elliptical; figuring out how to top out a rock route; the clarity of mind
and body after yoga class. Finishing a project; finishing a late project; crossing things off the
to-do list; days that end with less things on the to-do list than they started with. My inbox at zero
emails. Knowing my work has meaning; interactions with colleagues; feeling like Im making a
difference. That anticipatory feeling of opening up a dataset to learn what it has to tell you.
Teaching, mentoring, helping people learn. Traveling, seeing new places, learning from people
in other cultures. Conversations, debates, interchanges of information and thoughts and
feelings. Raising our son together and sharing my life with my partner. The insanity, craziness,
sorrows, and joy of life.

Let Your Life Speak

by Brian Hatcher, Professor and Packard Chair of Theology
I grew up in suburban Minneapolis in a 1960s subdivision where the streets had names like
Brown, Colgate and Dartmouth. I lived on Brown Lane and for years I thought it was just a
reminder of an otherwise unremarkable childhood. It wasnt until I was in high school that I
realized the streets were named for Ivy League universities.
My father grew up in England before World War II. He joined the RAF and came to North
America to train pilots. He never went back home. After serving in Korea he joined a
Minneapolis milling company. He had by this time married my mother, who had grown up in
Virginia. She had a degree from a teachers college and taught junior-high Spanish for many
years. I was a minor celebrity in my neighborhood both for the crazy accents my friends
encountered when visiting and for the way my mom used to stand on the back porch and holler
my name at dinnertime.
Who knows how any of this shaped me? I suppose there was a kind of modest cosmopolitanism
about my background. My father ended up working in international business and regularly
brought home tales and trinkets from places like Saudi Arabia, Indonesia, Venezuela, and Hong
Kong. I think maybe the accents, languages and travel must have quietly set me on a path to
study what we used call foreign cultures. And I suppose unbeknownst to me Brown Lane ended
up pointing me not just east but into an academic career.

Pick a Law
by Susan Ardizzoni, Director of Undergraduate Admissions
Be sure youre home when the streetlights come on. This welcome refrain was music to our
ears in the summer as we ran back outside after wolfing down a home cooked dinner. Life in
suburban Pittsburgh, living on a dead end street (our middle class neighborhood wasnt fancy
enough for it to be called a cul de sac) with lots of kids meant endless possibilities of kickball,
wiffleball or an all boy hockey game. As the oldest of five kids in a Catholic family, I was part
time babysitter, game organizer or tattle tale depending on the situation (my siblings might have
other descriptors.). The steep S-curve that led to most of the houses saw daredevil bike races
(if you were really brave, you started from the second telephone pole and if you ask my sister,
not always the best decision) in the summer and awesome sledding in the winter. We all grew up
with Pittsburgh pride, sporting the Black and Gold each Sunday (Im still known to do that)
during football season. For a short moment in time were the coolest kids in the neighborhood Lynn Swann and Franco Harris (Steeler gods) stopped by a neighborhood party being held at our
house, having accepting an invitation extended by my father. It was fun to be a cool kid for that
quick moment. Other than a week or maybe two at the Jersey shore, life on Glen Oak Drive was
my world happily.

Let Your Life Speak

by Benjamin Baum, Associate Director of Admissions
In my hometown of Plymouth, Massachusetts, people dress like pilgrims and march in the
Pilgrim Progress. Yes, thats rightIve worn a broad-brimmed hat with buckle and paraded in
public. The progress goes past the basilica that houses Plymouth Rock, the Mayflower docked in
the harbor, and the graveyard where pilgrim remains are buried. I have even worked a summer at
Plimoth Plantation, where actors dress and speak (and spell) as though they were settlers in 1627.
Spending a 90 degree day in wool breeches mending a fence, all while pretending youre a 380
year old English man, takes a certain passionand lunacy. Dont ask me to do the accent.
When you grow up among pilgrims and thatched roof houses, history becomes a normal part of
everyday life. I can spend a day with my 1930s globe, where Africa is a nebulous blob of faded
blue marked French West Africa, the Philippines are colored the United States forest green, and
Poland slices the Weimer Republic through the middle. Thanks to a trip to the twelfth-century
island town of Kuressaare, Estonia (population 14,000 but feels more like 10), I have visited the
houses where my great, great grandparents once lived. Between the books and movies, I must
have read and watched a dozen biographies of Edward VI, king of England as a child between
1547 and 1553 (and the inspiration for The Prince and the Pauper). When youre surrounded by
it, history stops being some abstract academic study and becomes tangible. I owe that perspective
to years dressed as a pilgrim.

Why Tufts?
by Meredith Reynolds, Assistant Director of Admissions
Here, I could leave dinner with friends determined to take a class in feminist theology, and at
breakfast the next day our conversation could convince me to study abroad in Barcelona.
Walking around campus, I had this ever-present feeling that I was just about to hear something
that would change my whole life forever, simply by piquing my interest. Here, its understood
that collaboration doesnt mean study buddies and class participation. It means sharing
knowledge in the hopes that what you learn will change the lives of others, not just your own.
Let Your Life Speak
My parents square dance on Sunday nights. Stop laughing.
Yes, they are part of what is ever-so-cleverly called the square dance group five couples that
met in the 70s (when, lets not forget, square dancing still wasnt cool) and have been Right and
Left Grand-ing ever since. Theyve all had children, who became known as you guessed it - the
square dance kids, though lets just keep that between you and me.
Since I was born Ive known the comforting thud of a Right-Hand Star on our hardwood floor
like I knew my own heartbeat. Ive known how to Dosado since before I realized what it was,
which come to think of it is probably why I let my dad teach it to me. Let me emphasize that I
was raised in the northeast, where square dancing was taught in exactly one day of gym class and
never spoken of again, if you knew what was good for you. And Ill admit this wasnt an intense
square dance group there were no cowboy boots or strict rules, and it mostly served as an
excuse for good company and a whole lot of laughing. My parents may not even be more
embarrassing than yours, in fact. But it was a strange reason for friends to get together
nonetheless, and it has taught me quite a bit.
The square dance group may be the reason I embrace offbeat opportunities, or the reason I easily
laugh at myself. It probably taught me about old friends, and having fun, and trying new things
with the people we meet along the way. But thats not really the point of this essay. What Im
actually trying to tell you is that I know how to Left-Hand Allemande, and I could teach you how
if you want me to.