A FEW WEEKS back, when I was being toasted in this very newspaper on an almost daily basis for an article on Alpha Phi's successful re-colonization effort, I got a call from my mom. And boy was she upset.
My mom was ready to declare war on my critics for me. She was ready to fight battles and give people a piece of her mind. She wanted to complain to the editor-in-chief and write a letter to the ombudsman.
It made me smile.
It was at that very moment, talking long distance on my cell phone to her in south Florida, that I felt I had sufficiently learned the most important lesson of my collegiate career. It had nothing to do with any scientific theory, political strategy or psychology textbook. It was a simple lesson -- to always keep things in perspective, and not to let other people get the best of me.
Now, I did not enjoy the numerous letters to the editor, the ombudsman's rant or the parody in The Declaration. But I really didn't care either. Sure, I felt I had been misunderstood. But I knew it would go away and that in due time, nobody would remember. And neither would I.
I now find myself looking back at the last four years in much the same way. The trivialities that I was so caught up in now seem meaningless. It's the other little things, the things that we hardly notice in the hectic pace of life, that I remember.
I certainly remember The Cavalier Daily. But I no longer care about the Kory v. Smith, Kintz and Tigrett fiasco. Fraternity rush, applicant tracking, miscellaneous assaults and botched honor cases mean little to me anymore. But I remember and cherish the friendships I created at the newspaper, from my absolutely amazing Managing Board down the chain.
And when I pick up a copy of The CD nowadays, awkward sentence structure and corrections, things that would have sent me into a tantrum a year ago, don't even catch my attention. Instead I feel proud about how individual staff writers have developed. I care about how the people behind the newspaper are doing, about how they are coping with the enormous stress that comes with daily production.
In much the same way, when I look back at issues during my term as editor-in-chief, I don't think of how difficult it could be or how often I wanted to have a magic wand that could make everybody go away. Instead I remember singing and dancing until 5 a.m. I remember sushi runs to Harris Teeter, laughing hysterically in MB meetings, playing practical jokes, slowing down production on Monday nights to watch pro wrestling and calling everybody and their mother a jabroni.
I remember belting out the lyrics to our illegally downloaded Backstreet Boys songs, seeing the sense of accomplishment in the eyes of staff members and adding Mr. and Mrs. Goldstein, our guppies, to our new fish tank. I remember Atlanta and when the Associated Press told us what we already knew -- that we were, and still are, the best.
I remember Sonia screaming for me to come to the back room to check pages and then Masha screaming for me to come back to the front to read the lead editorial. I remember Emily screaming about terrible headlines and Dan screaming about friggin' Passover.
I remember Final Roll parties, or at least parts of them. I remember spraying champagne, doing a booty dance and giving speeches that, in retrospect, made very little sense but at the time seemed like the gospel. I remember how good 111 has been to me. I remember the people I look up to, and the people who I hope look up to me.
And there is much outside of the dungeon of Newcomb Hall too. I remember having a 10-foot pool in my Lambeth living room. I remember how much the apartment reeked afterwards. I remember playing pranks first year on my RA, playing Sega and IM basketball.
I remember trips to Florida, South Carolina, California, Pinehurst, Duke and Chapel Hill. I remember trying to water ski at Jamey Thompson's place and failing, and laughing hysterically at Finley when he did even worse.
I remember the esteemed entity and two-headed monster that is Greedak and two sweet charity mini-golf tournaments. I remember that it was your honor. I remember the times the Magnificent Seven would go to the bars or hang out on the Lawn. I remember being up to no good too often.
I remember having intellectual late-night conversations with Brooke and inappropriate late-night conversations with Carr. I remember having both with Tee.
I remember the girls I dated. I remember beer pong with D. Payne, going to football games with everyone else and phone calls with Mr. Sabato and Dean Laushway. I remember things I'm not allowed to talk about.
But mostly I remember the love I have for this great University and all of the hopefully life-long friends I have made here.
I won't be walking the Lawn with those friends this weekend. Though our roads split here, whenever I think about them, it will make me smile.
(Mike Greenwald was editor-in-chief and an associate News editor.)
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