With just 7 short days left, I have been thinking a lot about going home. The sad thing is, I feel like I am one of the only kids here who really doesn't want to leave. In California I have a nice house in a nice neighborhood with a nice room. I have two little brothers and two cocker spaniels and a neurotic mother, and four crazy cats, all of whom are nice enough. I have a shinny silver car and a school full of girls that I love to death, but there are many things that home does not have.
Home does not have dorm rooms that I can cover in magazine collages. Home does not have cup stacking champions, baton twirlers, soft-rap bands, or crazy Asian ninjas. At home, I cannot walk to the beach in my free time, eat red mango as I please, or sit on a street-corner with four new friends as we manage to earn eight dollars singing along with the strumming of Ian's acoustic guitar. Home does not have any of the things I have discovered and fallen in love with here at Cherubs. Most importantly, home does not have 82 brilliantly minded young journalist who evoke awe, encouragement, and inspiration in me all at the same time.
When I walked into Jones hall on June 28th, sweaty and out of breath and 20 minutes late, I was not in a fabulous mood. When I glanced around the room at my fellow Cherubs with un-goggled eyes and noticed the sign that said "Welcome to the best summer of your life" I scoffed. "Psha, right." *eye roll* But looking back on it now, I can easily say these have been some of the best five weeks of my life so far. I've grown up, literally with one of the most amazing birthdays of my life, and figuratively with amazing lectures from John and Joe and Jenny and all of the staff.
(And yes, for the record, I have learned from the lectures despite an unfortunate sleeping habit that cannot go without mention that I seem to have developed which has left several people asking me if I am narcoleptic which, for the record I am not. At home I actually have trouble sleeping...but anyway, I'm just gonna hope that the instructors can forgive me and that twenty years from now that embarrassing factor of my Cherub persona will have selectively escaped all of your memories...)
Moving on,
I would love to say that all of us could be friends forever. To put it more exactly and to quote one of my favorite movies of all time, "I wish I could bake a cake out of rainbows and smiles and everyone would eat it and be happy..." but unfortunately, life just doesn't work like that. I mean, I'm going to hope that with the power of the internet we all stay friends and help each other take over the media world someday, but if ten years from now, we don't remember each other, it's ok. Because as much as I adore each of you, this experience isn't about the individuals or even necessarily the individual AP style rules *gasp*, it's about the journey and the lessons as a whole.
I now understand why the speakers we've had light up when they proudly say that they too were Cherubs, or why they still bring up there Cherub friends, or even why they give up a piece of there summer to come hang out with a bunch of high school kids.
Cherubs is kind of like a net that binds us all together. We have a common bond that bridges memory and generation. We were all here. We all climbed three flights of two sets of thirteen stairs a ridiculous number of times during the all day story. We all walked "fifteen" minutes in unruly weather to get to the fourth of July parade. And we did all of this constantly faced with the threat of the dreaded Sunday morning spit list.
And to further this analogy and continue on my overly-sappy address, I simply feel like I must note the rope in this net. A fro-yo loving Nebraskan who is kind of magic in my eyes. I mean, think about it, over the history of journalism Cherubs, he has slowly but surly been responsible for bringing each and every one of us here. It is no wonder why the biggest smile on the faces of former Cherubs seems to come at the mention of the name Roger Boye. I mean who could forget "N-H-S-I News ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-ch".
So to wrap this up, I think we all came here feeling like big fish...and then slowly had that beat out of us. But as we all of back to our prospective ponds, I hope we all realize that we have grown here, and that in life, when we feel like small fish we can remember looking around a Cherub-filled room 217 Fisk Hall and know that even though said binding net is no longer present in a physical sense, we are not alone.
Thank you.
