They told me this is my last column for the Optimist, but I will spare you my top-10 tips I taught my freshman self. I tend to think there is a surplus of senior sentiments around this time and, frankly, my advice booklet is busting at the seams. Furthermore, I have a terminal case of avoidadieuitis.
Roommates can testify, I am renown for unapologetically lying about my departure date, jeopardizing any last meet-ups and on more than one occasion, leaving town in the middle of the night to avoid anything that resembles a farewell. This month, I have somehow managed to duck out of every senior affair: Party on the Patio, last Oxford reunion dinner, Senior Send-Off and the department send-off party.
Somehow though, the commencement ceremony feels the least feel-y of all senior lasts. The one event explicitly tied to real-world transition is Kleenex-light and cliché-heavy. I blame high school.
I graduated from Pampa High School, home to the fightin’ Harvesters, to this day a laughable mascot unmatched. We were made to march across the newly fake-turfed field and my high heels aerated faux ground and aggravated football coaches. I knew every person who crossed the stage, and we all agreed, 18 years together demanded we depart. The service, the groanuation, was two hours of “shoot for the stars!” sermons under the Texas sun heat lamps.
This supposed congratulatory ceremony had we, the guests of honor, sweat-swaddled in forest green cloaks, dead set on careers that none of our college degrees will confirm. High school graduation was an all-in-all melodramatic.
Next weekend, my dad will bear the yolk of my vanity as I use his sans-heels footing to crutch my way to my assigned seat. I’ll don my Hogwarts apparel, thrilled to be wearing black this time around and equally crushed my coming career as an Auror was over before the Muggle world let me start. Most notably, I have a 50/50 chance of knowing my seat neighbor, for my acquaintance base is made almost entirely by those producing the paper you hold. I can leave the Bean and my Chapel probation status will testify I will effortlessly part ways with Moody Coliseum.
But these newsies?
Stay tuned next week for my goodbye column.
