Next Generation

Sag Harbor ends on an portentous note, with Benji wondering if this is the end of an era. Of all the summers he has spent and all the memories he has made there, he can’t ignore that a change has taken place -- the bonfire isn’t as energetic as it once was, and slowly his peers have returned to the city. Soon he will be back in New York with the summer far behind him.

When Benji attempts to find “Little” doppelgangers in the midst of the community’s annual foot race (a tradition he and his friends have now outgrown) he immediately recognizes himself in a clumsy but sanguine little boy with an unfortunate afro. But when he tries to pick out his future self in the crowd, the results are much less transparent and promising. With this uncertainty, the possibility of him becoming one of “Those Who Didn’t Come Out Anymore” is just as likely as him raising his own family and returning to Sag every summer. Benji has long condemned the selling of one’s Sag Harbor property as the ultimate offense, but what does that mean for people like his sister, who were once just like him before permanently relocating to the outside world? Will he and his friends even come out next summer? Only time will tell. And if they don’t, who will take their place?

In its final pages, the novel hints at this potential, describing a new generation of Sag Harbor “aborigines” as they stake their ground. One young boy in particular, towering over the other kids in both stature and guts, quickly makes a strong first impression. It’s natural to expect him to mirror one of the characters mentioned previously in the novel, but I think it’s important that he doesn’t. As Benji contemplates the fate of his generation, this random kid, whom no one can seem to place, literally destroys pieces of Sag Harbor while his young peers cheer him on -- one boy even discards the once coveted race medal in spirit. Benji and his friends are helpless as they passively discourage the destruction before turning their backs to it. Just as he felt the disconnect with his parents’ and grandparents’ generations despite their failed efforts to incorporate him, there is a distance between him and this new breed. They will figuratively and literally tear down his generation’s legacy and carve out their own, starting their own traditions and making their own memories.

As I watched this year’s seniors tearfully embrace one another in their matching class shirts today, I couldn’t help but sense the same prophetic change taking place. Within months of their graduation, an entirely new flock of subbies will be ushered in to fill in the empty lockers. Throughout the years I’ve commented on how each crop of subbies manages to be so distinct from the previous yet still renew the youthful energy. And while we may occasionally see fragments of ourselves in their optimistic faces, the school will never be the same. These students will talk about their fancy new laptops and legitimate science teacher, but they will never have had the opportunity to meet Sue Kovacs or reminisce about playing Smash in the lounge. I have a rough idea of what Little Athena was like, but the future of Big Athena is hard to picture. A year from now, my class will probably be experiencing the same apocalyptic rush of emotions the seniors must be feeling right now. It is my hope that amidst their necessary trampling and incineration of our legacy, the future subfreshmen will spare the lasting reminder that we were once here.