Kent State is the “I heart Carol Cartwright” poster in some kid’s window in Eastway.

It’s the frat boy’s Facebook photo with his arm wrapped around two drunken blondes and a bottle of SoCo.

It’s the football games we lost.

It’s the roommate you fought with.

Kent State is the umbrella we carry in our book bag because we know it will inevitably rain sometime.

It’s the parking spot we can’t find when class started five minutes ago.

It’s the B+ we got when we would have got an A with the old system.

It’s the Facebook group we had named after us.

It’s the guy and girl making out at the Brain monument at 2 a.m.

It’s the alarm you swore you set.

Kent State is the stall door in the third floor Music and Speech women’s room that has no lock.

It’s where “those kids got shot.”

It’s the five dollars you found in your pocket that bought you a burrito.

It’s the class you skipped on St. Patrick’s Day.

Kent State is the line at Rosie’s you waited in only to find they weren’t serving milkshakes anymore tonight.

It’s the drunken freshmen boys yelling obscenities outside your window.

It’s the professor who says “and again” five-hundred times.

It’s the “Sex and the City” poster thumbtacked on your wall.

It’s the Hungry Howie’s pizza you ordered 55 minutes ago and still haven’t received.

It’s the football players playing video games in Dunbar.

Kent State is the frat boys repainting over each other’s designs on the rocks.

It’s the bathroom stall doors that are so short you can practically see everyone’s business.

It’s “the Landing” and “the rich dorms.”

It’s “Small World.”

It’s the guy you made out with at a frat that you can’t make eye contact with when he’s in front of you in line for

1 a.m. Taco Bell.

It’s the Nattie we spilled.

Kent State is the RA who yelled at us.

It’s the RA who drank with us.

It’s the security guard who caught us.

It’s the hangover we had in the morning.

It’s the show we watched every week.

It’s the Stater you sort of read.

It’s your picture with Flash.

It’s the walk down Main Street in the snow.

It’s the Rockne’s food you ate.

It’s the black squirrel you almost ran over.

It’s the last minute trip to Wal-Mart.

Kent State is more than just some ode to May 4, or some racially upsetting controversy. Kent State is all of us. It’s what we do and who we are. My mom was a student at Kent State when the shootings took place. She remembers college for more than just that one day. We shouldn’t let ourselves be pigeonholed. Let’s not let others think of us as “that school.” We are something more than the unfortunate events that took place. Kent State is the place we call home.

Allison Pritchard is a (soon-to-be) senior electronic media production major and columnist for the Daily Kent Stater. Contact her at [email protected].