One week.  Seven days.  One hundred sixty-eight hours ago, I was in the midst of finals week. With my favorite BIC pen in hand and the caffeine from my third cup of coffee kicking in right on time, I finished my last final ever.  Well, it wasn’t so much “finished” rather I just ran out of time.  Still, I walked my blue book up to the podium as if in stride to my own theme song I imagined to sound something like “The Circle of Life.”  This was it.  This was my last academic assignment of seventeen years.

Done.

In hindsight, with my hands washed of all papers, exams, and ink smudge marks on the bottom-side of my right pinky, I reflect back on my schooling and am rather pleased with how it turned out and wrapped up.  Sure, I did not graduate with any Greek-sounding phrases attached to my major and am perfectly okay with that.  I love learning.  I care about education, and yet I know the classroom is not primarily where I excel.  I recognize that.  I accept and embrace that; for being at Westmont, although it has made me acutely aware of other people’s gifts, it has also highlighted and helped to hone my own.  The truth is my most ardent passions lie elsewhere and are, relievedly, not defined by letter grades.

Thus, I see it more as my  civil duty to be academically average.  If it weren’t for ordinary students like me, there wouldn’t be any need for terribly elite honor societies and fancy-smancy inductions in secluded dining rooms.  I see it as this: someone’s got to set the bar that others may trump.  So you’re welcome, you summa kappa you people.

Thus, in conclusion of my college education, I propose a toast to the academic average Joe’s of Westmont College.

This one’s for you who hasn’t gotten straight A’s since junior year of high school.  This one’s for you who only has one major and is not even certain about that.  This one’s for you who doesn’t have the next decade mapped out with graduate schools and doting job offers.

This one’s for you, fellow scholar.

It’s been a pleasure.