Let her cry if the tears fall down like rain. Let her sing if it eases all her pain. Let her be...
Well I never lived the dreams of the prom kings
And the drama queens
I'd like to think the best of me
Is still hiding
Up my sleeve
They love to tell you
Stay inside the lines
But something's better
On the other side
I wanna run through the halls of my high school
I wanna scream at the
Top of my lungs
I just found out there's no such thing as the real world
Just a lie you've got to rise above
8 and a half days of classes are left, as much as these past couple of months have dragged on... I know it's so unbelievably cliche, but the past four years really did fly by. I remember my 8th grade graduation and how excited I was to leave St. Nick's and come to Hoban. I remember the first day of Hoban. Oh man, we were so different. Well I don't know if every one was, but I know I was way different. I remember the Junior Ring ceremony and it seems crazy the sophomores now are already picking out their rings. At the Rudy assembly Thursday, which was all freshman and lower grades, it really made me feel old. All of the kids were acting very immature and just being stupid. It was weird to feel old. It made me think, what would it be like to go back and start over... would I want to? Would I have studied harder for Physical Science? (probably not!) Taken Latin 2? (definitely not!) Not walked on so many eggshells for people? Gotten to know some of the people who I'm just getting to know this year? Who knows?
Anyways, I found this and really liked it, so I'm posting it here:
"Last Thursday night at 9 p.m., I was wiping the steam off my bathroom mirror so I could spend those two awkward minutes convincing myself that I actually look cool in a towel. Last Thursday night at 9 p.m., 508 miles away from cozy Amherst, one of my best friends was doing the same thing, only in a blind-as-a-bat-without-his-glasses kind of way.
Last Thursday night at midnight, after maybe eight games of beer pong, I was gradually reaching the point where, "I'm wicked sober," actually means, "Give me my car keys and I'll get you home without a severe head injury roughly 50 percent of the time."
Last Thursday night at midnight one of my best friends was probably doing the same, only replacing pong with Jaeger Bombs.
Last Friday morning at 3 a.m., I was complaining about how my boogers froze to my face on the walk back to Puffton. Last Friday morning at 3 a.m., one of my best friends was lying in a puddle of his own blood, mugged, beaten, and discarded in the streets of a major city, possibly left for dead.
I could write about how he was found, or how long his emergency reconstructive surgery lasted. I could write about how a blizzard was the only thing keeping me from driving down to Virginia in hopes of beginning a new string of sniper shootings. But instead, I'll write about something else that shook me up: the fact that I talked to my four best friends in the world today and I can't even remember the last time that happened.
You might have read that college isn't the place you meet your future husband, but instead it's where you meet your future bridesmaids. You might think that going away to school means you have to ditch the people you grew up with, merely tossing aside the memories that seemed to be so poignantly encapsulated by that high school year book you can no longer find, only to be replaced by new ones. Lies. To me, college is a place where you come to realize just how irreplaceable your best friends from home really are.
As much as I love everyone I've met here at UMass, and as much as I hate the thought of having generic, uncomfortable conversations with 85 percent of my townie high school class at my first reunion, four years of papers, parties, and puking is no substitute for the 18 years I spent finding out who I really am. And because I'm going to remember those years over the course of my lifetime, and because there wasn't nearly as much alcohol back then to make me forget, I'm pretty sure I'm damn well going to remember the people I spent that time with.
Some day it's going to hit you that although you spent those years convinced that you were trapped in a sleepy town where nothing ever happened, in reality there was just too much happening for you get a handle on. It was a time of firsts: first steps, first 'A' paper put on the fridge under that pizza place magnet, first group shower in a locker room full of dudes, and your first kiss with tongue.
College, on the other hand, is a time of lasts: Last Scantron sheet, last Microsoft Word experience where Courier New is a necessity, last stiffing of the Wings delivery guy because there's no way you can find 15 percent at 2 in the morning, and the last time you'll wake up and wonder, "How the hell did I end up in this bed ... with this girl?"
Lord, by the time you get your diploma, quite a few of you might even have new last names. But as nerve-wracking, sweaty, and forgettable as those firsts may have seemed, it's that same juvenile awkwardness that prevents these memories from taking their respective places next to your freshmen Greek Mythology notes underneath the emergency exit signs of your mind.
But these experiences have nothing to do with that precious little thing we call fate. Everything does not happen for a reason. There is no reason my friend should have to explain to me why his doctors are pretty damn sure that something other than a fist was used to repeatedly hit him in the face. There is no reason he should have to walk around looking like a lanky Harry Potter for the rest of his life. This kid is too humble, too loyal, and too genuine for me to believe that. Things happen, because ... well they happen. It's our job to find the reasons and attempt to convince ourselves that they were, in part, to make us stronger, more caring human beings.
Some things do happen for a reason. There's a reason you guys are next to each other in that picture of the human pyramid, both before and after the fat kid made it collapse. There's a reason you had no doubt in your mind that they would drive the 12 hours from their schools just to spend the weekend in Boston to catch a Red Sox game. There's a reason they'll be the ones standing at the head table of your wedding reception, glasses raised, smiles wide, eyes half glazed over, just when it hits you that damn, we made it this far ... together. The reason? God, or Buddha, Celine Dion, or whomever you count on to give you faith when your personal stock has all but run out, put these people on earth just for you.
So look forward to the next time you head back home. Create some new firsts, sing the "Golden Girls" theme song together, or do the same old stuff you've always done. Just have fun when you do it, and know that there's a pretty good reason you wouldn't have it any other way."
I know that might not apply to us yet, but next year it will. No matter what Mr. McDermott says or anyone else writes in their livejournals, we will remain friends with some people from high school. Perhaps Hanson said it best, "Hold on to the ones who really care cause in the end they'll be the only ones there." Some people I know have ten or twelve "close friends" but next year when they're having a problem will these people be willing to stay on the phone to listen or drive a few hours to come see you? I know McGin would be in Philly in a minute and Christine will already be there.
Understand that friends come and go, but with a precious few you should hold on. Work hard to bridge the gaps in geography and lifestyle, because the older you get, the more you need the people who knew you when you were young.
I'm done with this... for now =)
love and roll on <333
And the drama queens
I'd like to think the best of me
Is still hiding
Up my sleeve
They love to tell you
Stay inside the lines
But something's better
On the other side
I wanna run through the halls of my high school
I wanna scream at the
Top of my lungs
I just found out there's no such thing as the real world
Just a lie you've got to rise above
8 and a half days of classes are left, as much as these past couple of months have dragged on... I know it's so unbelievably cliche, but the past four years really did fly by. I remember my 8th grade graduation and how excited I was to leave St. Nick's and come to Hoban. I remember the first day of Hoban. Oh man, we were so different. Well I don't know if every one was, but I know I was way different. I remember the Junior Ring ceremony and it seems crazy the sophomores now are already picking out their rings. At the Rudy assembly Thursday, which was all freshman and lower grades, it really made me feel old. All of the kids were acting very immature and just being stupid. It was weird to feel old. It made me think, what would it be like to go back and start over... would I want to? Would I have studied harder for Physical Science? (probably not!) Taken Latin 2? (definitely not!) Not walked on so many eggshells for people? Gotten to know some of the people who I'm just getting to know this year? Who knows?
Anyways, I found this and really liked it, so I'm posting it here:
"Last Thursday night at 9 p.m., I was wiping the steam off my bathroom mirror so I could spend those two awkward minutes convincing myself that I actually look cool in a towel. Last Thursday night at 9 p.m., 508 miles away from cozy Amherst, one of my best friends was doing the same thing, only in a blind-as-a-bat-without-his-glasses kind of way.
Last Thursday night at midnight, after maybe eight games of beer pong, I was gradually reaching the point where, "I'm wicked sober," actually means, "Give me my car keys and I'll get you home without a severe head injury roughly 50 percent of the time."
Last Thursday night at midnight one of my best friends was probably doing the same, only replacing pong with Jaeger Bombs.
Last Friday morning at 3 a.m., I was complaining about how my boogers froze to my face on the walk back to Puffton. Last Friday morning at 3 a.m., one of my best friends was lying in a puddle of his own blood, mugged, beaten, and discarded in the streets of a major city, possibly left for dead.
I could write about how he was found, or how long his emergency reconstructive surgery lasted. I could write about how a blizzard was the only thing keeping me from driving down to Virginia in hopes of beginning a new string of sniper shootings. But instead, I'll write about something else that shook me up: the fact that I talked to my four best friends in the world today and I can't even remember the last time that happened.
You might have read that college isn't the place you meet your future husband, but instead it's where you meet your future bridesmaids. You might think that going away to school means you have to ditch the people you grew up with, merely tossing aside the memories that seemed to be so poignantly encapsulated by that high school year book you can no longer find, only to be replaced by new ones. Lies. To me, college is a place where you come to realize just how irreplaceable your best friends from home really are.
As much as I love everyone I've met here at UMass, and as much as I hate the thought of having generic, uncomfortable conversations with 85 percent of my townie high school class at my first reunion, four years of papers, parties, and puking is no substitute for the 18 years I spent finding out who I really am. And because I'm going to remember those years over the course of my lifetime, and because there wasn't nearly as much alcohol back then to make me forget, I'm pretty sure I'm damn well going to remember the people I spent that time with.
Some day it's going to hit you that although you spent those years convinced that you were trapped in a sleepy town where nothing ever happened, in reality there was just too much happening for you get a handle on. It was a time of firsts: first steps, first 'A' paper put on the fridge under that pizza place magnet, first group shower in a locker room full of dudes, and your first kiss with tongue.
College, on the other hand, is a time of lasts: Last Scantron sheet, last Microsoft Word experience where Courier New is a necessity, last stiffing of the Wings delivery guy because there's no way you can find 15 percent at 2 in the morning, and the last time you'll wake up and wonder, "How the hell did I end up in this bed ... with this girl?"
Lord, by the time you get your diploma, quite a few of you might even have new last names. But as nerve-wracking, sweaty, and forgettable as those firsts may have seemed, it's that same juvenile awkwardness that prevents these memories from taking their respective places next to your freshmen Greek Mythology notes underneath the emergency exit signs of your mind.
But these experiences have nothing to do with that precious little thing we call fate. Everything does not happen for a reason. There is no reason my friend should have to explain to me why his doctors are pretty damn sure that something other than a fist was used to repeatedly hit him in the face. There is no reason he should have to walk around looking like a lanky Harry Potter for the rest of his life. This kid is too humble, too loyal, and too genuine for me to believe that. Things happen, because ... well they happen. It's our job to find the reasons and attempt to convince ourselves that they were, in part, to make us stronger, more caring human beings.
Some things do happen for a reason. There's a reason you guys are next to each other in that picture of the human pyramid, both before and after the fat kid made it collapse. There's a reason you had no doubt in your mind that they would drive the 12 hours from their schools just to spend the weekend in Boston to catch a Red Sox game. There's a reason they'll be the ones standing at the head table of your wedding reception, glasses raised, smiles wide, eyes half glazed over, just when it hits you that damn, we made it this far ... together. The reason? God, or Buddha, Celine Dion, or whomever you count on to give you faith when your personal stock has all but run out, put these people on earth just for you.
So look forward to the next time you head back home. Create some new firsts, sing the "Golden Girls" theme song together, or do the same old stuff you've always done. Just have fun when you do it, and know that there's a pretty good reason you wouldn't have it any other way."
I know that might not apply to us yet, but next year it will. No matter what Mr. McDermott says or anyone else writes in their livejournals, we will remain friends with some people from high school. Perhaps Hanson said it best, "Hold on to the ones who really care cause in the end they'll be the only ones there." Some people I know have ten or twelve "close friends" but next year when they're having a problem will these people be willing to stay on the phone to listen or drive a few hours to come see you? I know McGin would be in Philly in a minute and Christine will already be there.
Understand that friends come and go, but with a precious few you should hold on. Work hard to bridge the gaps in geography and lifestyle, because the older you get, the more you need the people who knew you when you were young.
I'm done with this... for now =)
love and roll on <333