When I was 10-years-old, my favorite movie was Hook, the Disney continuation of the J.M. Barrie classic about a boy that never wanted to grow up. Even after high school I felt like Peter Pan -- a person that would forever hold on to the blissfulness of being a child.

However, entering my senior year of college, I forgot those feelings and began to put pressure on myself to find direction for my future. I forced myself to grow up too quickly; I forgot my childlike enthusiasm for almost everyone and everything and, in turn, forgot how to be a kind person.

I was writing for the Collegian about games, and I didn't even feel playful. I felt like an orphan in a world where no one understood me -- stranded -- left alone. I felt like Peter Banning, the character played by Robin Williams in Hook, formerly Peter Pan before returning to earth and forgetting his past.

At my worst, I felt as if Captain Hook had won. Hook described Banning as "a cold, selfish man who drinks too much and is obsessed with success." He had stolen the only thing left that reminded me of my childhood, and I could see myself becoming the wicked old man that I never wanted to be. I was becoming a pirate and, like Hook, began to fear time.

During college, I had two Wendys, girls whose symbolic thimble meant as much as every kiss. I also met some promiscuous Tiger Lillys and even a few Tinkerbells, girls that I became such good friends with that relationships would be impossible. But I'll never forget my Lost Boys.

The Collegian staff, as well as a few of my other best friends, had faith in me even when I didn't have faith in myself. They made my last round in Neverland something that I will truly never forget. They revitalized my enthusiasm and even taught me some new tricks. Instead of learning to fly, fight or crow, they taught me to interview, write and glow.

Pockets was the Lost Boy that recognized Pan for who he was and shared it with the other Lost Boys. My best friend on staff, Chris Weeden, recognized my talent while I had managed to stay below the radar with the rest of the staff. He reached out to me and included me as a writer -- but, more importantly, as an integral member of the social party at the Collegian.

My Rufio was my roommate and best friend, Derick Lengemann. While we rarely saw eye-to-eye on anything and weren't even extremely close until junior year, we were always there for each other when things got bad. During the worst part of my four years here, Derick stood by me and pretended to understand even when nothing I said made any sense. And just like Rufio did for Pan, Derick would fight until his death as I would for him if the cause was just.

The Lost Boys helped me to find my happy thought and, once again, my passion for sports and feature writing was rekindled. I was flying higher than I ever had before.

In Pan's three days of training to fight Hook, he shrugged off the pressures of adulthood and played along with the Lost Boys, while learning several methods of battle through conversation and playful interaction.

Whether they realized it or not, my friends have taught me more valuable lessons through their actions and spontaneity than I could have ever learned in any classroom.

I will miss the football games. I will miss the drinking binges. I will miss the late night snowball fights or the hung-over softball games. I will even miss the late night cram sessions that made me hyperventilate, cry or just laugh hysterically at how little I actually know about the stuff that I was supposed to learn in college.

But what I will miss more than anything are the ridiculous late-night chats that teach you everything you'd ever want to know about a person's inner-child.

This place is Neverland. Everyone is the same age; you can leave when you please, and if you approach it the right way, even the most serious topics can be treated as a game. It's the perfect place to have one final shot at feeling like a child while making that awkward transition to adulthood.

Now as I sit here in a position I've dreaded, having to return to the real world I hope and pray that I will never again lose the my passion for life or my curiosity in human emotion.

While I am not in a position of power to pass on my sword like Pan did in the movie, I hope that some of my craziness and childlike presence has been permanently instilled at camp Collegian on 123 Burrowes.

I know now what it must have felt like for Pan, standing in front of his Lost Boys after the great battle against Hook was over. Reality was setting in that he must leave Neverland, the magical land that made him feel alive again after being weighed down by the pressures of real life. He realized just like I did that I don't look that great in tights anymore.

There are people in the outside world waiting for my return, people that need me. While it's a wonderful fantasy to stay young forever, it's impossible to fight the future. In the words of the great Pan after Granny Wendy asks if his adventures are finally over, "To live... to live would be an awfully big adventure."

Luckily for me, and every other Penn State alum, the stars will always shine. Penn State will always be just past the second star on the right and straight on 322 until morning. And when you're there, there's only one word that can sum up the tremendous feeling of joy I experience with every waking moment I'm in Happy Valley.

Bangarang.