Awol on the Appalachian Trail
So. Here's the deal. It is May 11th and I am sitting in the library at Girard High School trying to configure my future and having fun with my students and athletes. I have been wanting to get this off the ground for a while now, but due to other necessary commitments, there has been this period of deliberation.
It is my last few hours of my collegiate undergraduate career. It has taken me six years and 181 hours to acquire this long sought after degree; this degree that is denoted by a single transcript and a minute fraction of processed tree pulp in some grandiose, coveted ceremony, where the Board of Regents, Deans, and the upper echelon of established professors parade around a gym in Copernican-esque garb. This is where the last twenty four years of my life has brought me: to a relatively obscure public college in rural southeast Kansas. This is where life seems to slam into me full force. This is where I think of Christopher McCandless and Terry Fox. For those of you who don't know who Christopher McCandless and Terry Fox are, I'll tell you in the next post.
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