Eighteen years of life and it’s come down to this, the moment all parents dread and all kids long for but, upon arriving at it, hesitate. It’s really an accumulation of moments; the realization of independence and uncertainty of Ferris Buller, the wistful and nostalgic feeling present in the chorus of Vitamin C’s “Graduation”, the consideration of how much of what is ahead of you is in your hands and how much has been set out for you, like in The Graduate.
Crap! I promised I wouldn’t go pop-culture crazy, but the truth is everything I’ve learned about all this “coming of age” junk has come from movies and television. I’ve been shown what the feeling of great independence and possibility is supposed to feel like all my life, and now that I’m finally there, I’m realizing those movies were frighteningly accurate in certain ways and extremely” Hollywood” in others.
It’s true; the same nostalgic feeling that tugs at your heart every time a classic song plays is bound to occur in your senior year. The impossibly fast final year of high school is so reflective and at the same time, all about the future that you won’t have time to experience the present, which is why it speeds by. Being on the brink of freedom and autonomy is exciting, but it has with it multiple instances of attempted documentation (everything will be your last____, and people will want to take pictures and video of whatever_____ is).
Then there’s the things that aren’t true. You probably won’t get to roam the streets of Chicago for a day without anyone noticing, you probably won’t dramatically discover furtive qualities about yourself or others through a day-long detention and you probably won’t have a relationship with the mom-next-door (probably not). But even if the things you experience, the relationships you make and the internal discoveries you realize are less quixotic than in the movies, they will prove to be just as pivotal in shaping your life and who you’ll become. Rest assured, you will have your own slow-motion, washed out mental images and memories, playing in a mental slide-show at times when you most need them. About a thousand metaphors about roads and paths come to mind as well, all of which are probably true.
Without being overly sappy, I need to give props to the things this high school has offered me; the speech and drama department, for giving a superfluously creative kid an outlet for catharsis, the English and art departments for doing the same and, most obviously, the journalism program, which has sparked a passion for me and allowed me to utilize and enhance my artistic and written interests, especially through this column.
Despite the limited view of the world from the scope of Pella, I have to acknowledge that I’ve grown to appreciate our community even more so during my high school years. Almost everyone seems to have an ambivalent relationship with their hometown, and I’m no exception. Perhaps the best way to illustrate this is to cite Tulip Time as an example; you complain about how it’s always the same and then you surprise yourself by having a good time.
As I type these last few words, there is an urge to slowly saunter towards the sunset with my fist in the air as “Don’t You Forget About Me” ominously complements my steady gait, as I trudge on in search of things to conquer, mistakes to make, people to piss off and a whole lot of possibility to experience. Okay, that’s a bit ridiculous, but if these past four years hadn’t turned out so ridiculous at times, then I would have nothing to write or to reminisce about.
I could have just copped out with the cynical “goodbye columns are stupid and cleche”, but that’s not who I am. And if there’s anything I’ve really learned in recent years, it’s that being cynical and antagonistic towards everything orthodox is the easiest and laziest way to appear profound, but not everyone is stupid enough to fall for it.
Crap! I promised I wouldn’t go pop-culture crazy, but the truth is everything I’ve learned about all this “coming of age” junk has come from movies and television. I’ve been shown what the feeling of great independence and possibility is supposed to feel like all my life, and now that I’m finally there, I’m realizing those movies were frighteningly accurate in certain ways and extremely” Hollywood” in others.
It’s true; the same nostalgic feeling that tugs at your heart every time a classic song plays is bound to occur in your senior year. The impossibly fast final year of high school is so reflective and at the same time, all about the future that you won’t have time to experience the present, which is why it speeds by. Being on the brink of freedom and autonomy is exciting, but it has with it multiple instances of attempted documentation (everything will be your last____, and people will want to take pictures and video of whatever_____ is).
Then there’s the things that aren’t true. You probably won’t get to roam the streets of Chicago for a day without anyone noticing, you probably won’t dramatically discover furtive qualities about yourself or others through a day-long detention and you probably won’t have a relationship with the mom-next-door (probably not). But even if the things you experience, the relationships you make and the internal discoveries you realize are less quixotic than in the movies, they will prove to be just as pivotal in shaping your life and who you’ll become. Rest assured, you will have your own slow-motion, washed out mental images and memories, playing in a mental slide-show at times when you most need them. About a thousand metaphors about roads and paths come to mind as well, all of which are probably true.
Without being overly sappy, I need to give props to the things this high school has offered me; the speech and drama department, for giving a superfluously creative kid an outlet for catharsis, the English and art departments for doing the same and, most obviously, the journalism program, which has sparked a passion for me and allowed me to utilize and enhance my artistic and written interests, especially through this column.
Despite the limited view of the world from the scope of Pella, I have to acknowledge that I’ve grown to appreciate our community even more so during my high school years. Almost everyone seems to have an ambivalent relationship with their hometown, and I’m no exception. Perhaps the best way to illustrate this is to cite Tulip Time as an example; you complain about how it’s always the same and then you surprise yourself by having a good time.
As I type these last few words, there is an urge to slowly saunter towards the sunset with my fist in the air as “Don’t You Forget About Me” ominously complements my steady gait, as I trudge on in search of things to conquer, mistakes to make, people to piss off and a whole lot of possibility to experience. Okay, that’s a bit ridiculous, but if these past four years hadn’t turned out so ridiculous at times, then I would have nothing to write or to reminisce about.
I could have just copped out with the cynical “goodbye columns are stupid and cleche”, but that’s not who I am. And if there’s anything I’ve really learned in recent years, it’s that being cynical and antagonistic towards everything orthodox is the easiest and laziest way to appear profound, but not everyone is stupid enough to fall for it.
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