Dearest First-Years

Those were the very words my father said after I told him how much tuition was at Redeemer. He went green and then passed out. It wasn’t pretty, especially when I informed him that I would be living on-campus in my second-year. Ouch.

Let’s all face it, if your daddy’s daddy didn’t start a farm/greenhouse/landscaping business then your daddy is probably still in a shock-induced coma like my old man. But if cows/flowers/weeds don’t run in your family genes then the only thing you have left is OSAP. A relationship with OSAP is twisted and fulfilling all at the same time, a love/hate relationship in the truest form. Love because that was the only way you could afford to buy a car in second-year; and hate because when you’re 29 and still paying off OSAP interest, you’re going to wish you stuck to your HSR bus passes.

Never fear, young one, most students have no idea how to pay for their educations. I wouldn’t be surprised if one or two Redeemer students have blue prints to the bank vaults in Meadowlands hidden safely underneath their beds. I wouldn’t blame them. After enduring four years of summer jobs, I would have happily held up a 7Eleven. That being said, I should refrain from talking about summer jobs, as the summer hasn’t ended and the tree planting wounds have yet to heal.

Maybe it’s the first month of your four (and-a-half) years at Redeemer, or perhaps you’re an RA in third-year, but whoever you are, you’re probably poor. It’s all right; you’ll be fine. Get a job for the government. Unless you’re majoring in theatre and planning to move to Toronto after you graduate. Then you’re screwed.

Until next month, as you scan the halls for bosom buddies, just remember: “OSAP: your best friend till the bitter end.”

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