I had the privilege of going roller skating with some of my friends in St. Charles a couple of weeks ago. When they invited me, I had the image in my mind of the skating rinks I am used to at home: 12-year-olds tentatively inching across a dirty, greased sheet of plastic set to the soundtrack of cheesy oldies music and the admonitions of its crotchety old owner.

Dear Mr. Christofanelli,

I found your response to Peter Benson’s support for the University’s parenting role toward students vitriolic, hyperbolic and, ironically, utterly childish (“A response to Peter Benson,” Oct. 2). I was not able to attend the forum on the new tobacco policy, so I will take your word for it that Professor Benson was patronizing or condescending, but that does not mean that his position is entirely without merit, nor excuse the threatening tenor of your letter.

I’d be lying if I said that I didn’t have a crush on a certain 17-year-old—almost 18!—runner-up from American Idol this past year. I’d also be lying if I denied making out with someone twice my age at a sketchy bar in Chicago. These two tidbits of information led me to consider age with regard [...]