2007/07/16 22:46
Twenty-Two
College was just the next step after I graduated high school. It was an expectation, a foregone conclusion -- I knew I'd be getting that bachelor's degree before I pursued any kind of a career. What I didn't know was how much I'd care about my school.
Four and a half years later, when I graduated from the University of New Mexico, I was an embodiment of its spirit.
To be honest, I'd always sort of been a Lobo. My dad took us to a lot of basketball games when we were growing up; we watched legends like Michael Cooper and Luc Longley and Hunter Greene work their magic in the perilous confines of The Pit and dreamed of one day playing on that hallowed floor.
Still, UNM was just somewhere to go. It was the backup plan, the college you picked when you hadn't gotten into anywhere else, when you didn't know what you wanted to do afterward. It was the University Near Mom.
But I didn't know what I wanted to do afterward. I wanted to write, that much was certain. I thought it pretty unlikely, though, that I'd get a degree in creative writing and suddenly begin churning out novels no matter what my baccalaureate education. Besides, my mentor had drilled into me that a degree was all but useless in pursuing publication. So I would be going to school for a degree in something that paid money, at least a little bit, and when I got home from that job I'd work on my stories.
As it turned out, UNM had an accredited communications program, with a journalism major within the school. That's writing, I thought. That pays, at least a little bit. And I'd already done some work for my high school paper, so how hard could it be?
The schooling itself was only a minor part of why I loved UNM. I loved its architecture, the Pueblo Revival style that I took for granted in Albuquerque but if not for President Tight's decree would have never taken off. I loved its sports teams, affable losers with high expectations of themselves despite their general lack of competition and competitiveness. I loved the fact that even though I was still quiet and withdrawn, I could now make friends, as this was not as much of a liability as it was in high school. And of course I loved the athletic bands, where I could shout and make a fool of myself and it was appreciated.
UNM was more than a school for my career. It was a school for my life. I lived on my own for the first time in college. I got drunk for the first time. I voted. I partied. I fell in love.
And on December 18, 1999, when I walked in my graduation ceremony, I finally got to realize my childhood dream and perform on that Pit floor.
Woof, woof, woof.
Four and a half years later, when I graduated from the University of New Mexico, I was an embodiment of its spirit.
To be honest, I'd always sort of been a Lobo. My dad took us to a lot of basketball games when we were growing up; we watched legends like Michael Cooper and Luc Longley and Hunter Greene work their magic in the perilous confines of The Pit and dreamed of one day playing on that hallowed floor.
Still, UNM was just somewhere to go. It was the backup plan, the college you picked when you hadn't gotten into anywhere else, when you didn't know what you wanted to do afterward. It was the University Near Mom.
But I didn't know what I wanted to do afterward. I wanted to write, that much was certain. I thought it pretty unlikely, though, that I'd get a degree in creative writing and suddenly begin churning out novels no matter what my baccalaureate education. Besides, my mentor had drilled into me that a degree was all but useless in pursuing publication. So I would be going to school for a degree in something that paid money, at least a little bit, and when I got home from that job I'd work on my stories.
As it turned out, UNM had an accredited communications program, with a journalism major within the school. That's writing, I thought. That pays, at least a little bit. And I'd already done some work for my high school paper, so how hard could it be?
The schooling itself was only a minor part of why I loved UNM. I loved its architecture, the Pueblo Revival style that I took for granted in Albuquerque but if not for President Tight's decree would have never taken off. I loved its sports teams, affable losers with high expectations of themselves despite their general lack of competition and competitiveness. I loved the fact that even though I was still quiet and withdrawn, I could now make friends, as this was not as much of a liability as it was in high school. And of course I loved the athletic bands, where I could shout and make a fool of myself and it was appreciated.
UNM was more than a school for my career. It was a school for my life. I lived on my own for the first time in college. I got drunk for the first time. I voted. I partied. I fell in love.
And on December 18, 1999, when I walked in my graduation ceremony, I finally got to realize my childhood dream and perform on that Pit floor.
Woof, woof, woof.
