I was having lunch with my sister Wednesday when I mentioned graduation, and how my name would be called, unlike Theo Huxtable, who only got to stand up and sit down.
That's when it hit me, that I am now Theo Huxtable and the first part of my great adventure -- my extended adolescence -- is over.
But oh what a ride it was.
Now I've seen this done a lot of ways during my four years at the Collegian, reading as some of my best friends said goodbye. This could go any number of ways.
I could say thanks (to my fans, and friends, Jay and PJ, who have waited two years to be mentioned or to Frank Flaherty, a good man destined for great things, or to John Harvey and Ira Miller, who somehow have taught me more about life than journalism or to my family, who have seen me through it all).
I could offer academic counsel (take a class with Steve Grecco, even if you will get a C, just to make you think).
I could make a plea to Old Main (restore proper funding to Phroth and the Lion, 90.7 FM, they are more Penn State than IST buildings, HUB fountains or Graham Spanier).
I could make a political argument (seniors remember this: Every dollar our government borrows will need to be paid back one day, with interest, by us).
I could tell you to stop complaining (it's ridiculous that it snows in April, but if we had weather like Florida, we'd be a school like Florida State with a worthless degree).
Or I could just tell you what I've seen.
I've seen the Alma Mater transformed from "We don't know the goddamned words" to a bunch of "spirited" stanzas since giant video screens were installed at Beaver Stadium, ignoring the real tradition that we students had a blatant disregard for the meaningless drivel.
I've seen Tony Johnson's feet land in bounds at Michigan Stadium, standing six feet away on the sideline. I've seen Penn State's Grand Football Experiment fail to adjust to the times, as it chose victory over honor while achieving neither.
I've seen Alex Komlev box, Emily Oleksiuk make saves and Rashana Barnes hobble.
I've seen a Jewish-Catholic basketball league that should be considered at the forefront of the ecumenical movement.
I've seen a beautiful State College morning when 3,006 Americans were killed in a horrific terrorist attack, and I've seen daily protests against a false war fought in their name.
I've seen the very tops of the Scottish Highlands, smoked Cuban cigars on the tip of the Ile de la Cite in Paris, seen the penultimate game at Maine Road stadium in my adopted city, Manchester, England.
I've seen the prettiest girl in the whole wide world, in the form of several different persons, turn and walk away. I've also seen the prettiest girl in the whole wide world, in the form of several other persons, turn back and smile.
I've seen table one at The Phyrst at the top of the morning on St. Patrick's day and sing-alongs that have lasted until the sun comes up. I've seen masses of people dancing to soul at Ponana's, The Bullet Parade at the Darkhorse and in their underwear at my apartment. Twice.
I've seen madness in the Collegian offices at 3:45 in the morning as a magazine deadline approaches, and I've seen joy on hundreds of faces knowing they love what they do, namely my darlings, Kim and Erica, and my brothers, Chris and Dustin.
I've seen my best friends surrounding me watching A Charlie Brown Christmas just before heading home for winter break, four times. I've seen those same friends drop a shot of tequila every time Van Wilder says, "Write that down." Thank you Jon, Chris, Adam, Tracey, Mutter, Tai, Dan, Maggie, Bern and Mike.
I've seen these things, and more, that eventually come to constitute a life, and I consider myself lucky. For almost every mistake I've made there's a reason I'd do it again.
I've had enough friends to ensure I've never been alone and most of the time I've succeeded in remembering that this is all a great strange dream.
And though I might be Theo Huxtable, I still don't know the goddamned words.
