Sssshhh…Did you hear that? Listen. There, off in the distance, over the horizon. Somewhere out on the unknown seas the Great Cruise Ship of Life is coming to take me away.

And thus, fellow graduates, in one week we will embark together on an adventure that will take us over sometimes tumultuous, sometimes tranquil waters. No more will I, the lowly life form, be standing alone on the Dock of Graduation waving my little white kerchief to my friends as they desert me.

Ah yes, the unknown realm. We’re finally going to be assimilated into the Big Blue Marble. Car payments, insurance payments, the nine-to-five doldrums, income tax, marital conflicts, screaming children, poverty, inflation, the horrors of nuclear war and George Bush await us.

Ain’t life grand? Before you know it, we’ll be pushing 30. Wastelines will begin expanding, some of us will begin balding, wrinkles will form and NIU will seem so much more wonderful in retrospect.

I guess the first practical thing to do is look for a job. There’s something within me that refuses to accept this fact of living. All of a sudden we’re expected to wear clothing that feels completely unnatural on our bodies and to act in a way that is totally foreign to our self-images (responsible and courteous, that is) so we can sit tensely before a prospective employer who will offer us a starting salary that might just feed the parakeets for a year.

Then the search for living accomodations will ensue. No longer are we guaranteed neighbors in our own age bracket and social circuts. Now we will learn about the elderly with their love for quiet, complacency and small children with their love for chaos and calamity.

OK, OK, so I’m being a pessimist. I’d rather expect the worst and be pleasantly surprised—or, be better able to cope with reality.

And as we prepare to board our lovely Ocean Liner, I can’t help but wonder what’s to become of my soon-to-be alma mater. Will NIU students of 1990 be paying a tuition bill equivacal to my annual income? Will Martha Palmer still be fighting for a job? Will Jim Fabris still be fighting? Will Clyde Wingfield still be on “sabbatical?”

If these are too difficult to answer, can I just ask one simple question? Does anyone else out there who’s graduating really feel any smarter? I mean, didn’t you always think that there was something about being a college graduate that implied a certain amount of sophistication, wisdom, practical knowledge and insightfulness? I’m beginning to think it’s just a cruel joke.

What have we really learned: How to cook out of a microwave, where the best drink specials are, how to cram for finals, how to find the after-hours party, where to park without getting towed…what?

It seems like the only thing I have really learned, beyond question—the only thing my mind has truly been opened to—is how much I still don’t know. For this, I needed a degree?

Well, now that I’ve just admitted that, you can be sure this column won’t be among those I submit for a portfolio.

Why do I get the feeling that somewhere, one of my professors is sitting behind his or her gradebook, snickering at the prospect of my graduation? You know, for three and a half years now I’ve been anticipating this moment, watching my forerunners in their caps and gowns doing the whole pomp and circumstance shindig. And now, I have nothing left to say.

So, here we go folks. Grab the bags, the blanket, reserve a lounge chair off the starboard bow and prepare to board. As for the rest of you…think of us in the spring when the tasty aroma of cow manure comes wafting around the corners of DeKalb.

Anyway, good luck to one and all on finals. One day, you, too will be called forth into the giant machine of life where we’ll all spin, churn and grind away in unison. Say bye!