A fifth year at STU is no walk in the park
When I was a first-year at St. Thomas — many, many years ago –Michael Jackson was alive and brightening up the lives of millions. iPods were the size of Kleenex boxes and only 11 people had Facebook. The world has changed since then, and so have I.
I am now entering my fifth year. Many of my peers crossed the finishing line but I stayed around for another jog around the course.
I am going to champion through a victory lap.
In the early days of my academic career, I would pass notes in class to alert comrades of a particularly attractive member of the opposite sex, invite them to a party or regale them with a story to inspire much LOL-ing or even, if I was lucky enough, a ROFL or two.
Now, when I pass a note in class it reads something to the effect of, “Excuse me, Sonny. I can no longer read the board, as my eyes are tired and lack the power they had in my youth. Would you be so kind as to allow me to copy your notes?” Luckily, they comply, for they can see that I am 100 years old.
When I first started at STU, any class before noon was a write-off. I’d roll out of bed five minutes before class, and, screaming in panic, I would sprint to campus, knocking over my peers with a tornado of elbows. I would arrive in class drenched in sweat, wearing only one shoe, chest heaving.
Now I am awake at 5:30 a.m., taking my time lacing my sensible, arch-supporting shoes, and I saunter, ever so slowly, up the hill to campus. With much time to spare before class, I attempt to mingle with the youth of today.
I’m not sure if it’s my weathered skin, that I’m speaking in a volume much louder than is comfortable to listen to, or that I’m sitting alone in the back of JD not directing my comments at anyone in particular, but no one seems to want to participate in conversation.
“Have you seen Die Hard Two?” or “I can do almost seven push-ups!” seem like good enough conversation starters to me. They demonstrate not only my strength and great taste, but also my longing to invite others into the fast-paced rock star lifestyle I lead.
The fast-paced rock star lifestyle that allows for me to be in bed by 9 p.m.
It takes the courage of a lion, the strength of an ox and the heart of a champion to be able to power through the victory lap. If the time comes that you too must stay on the track for an extra lap, get yourself a leather strap to chomp down on (in the old days, that was our Tylenol) and brace yourself. It will all be over before you know it.
