I hope you won’t be reading this as well as my other reflection in the Commentary section. If you are reading both Features and Commentary, I have a bone to pick with you, and I pick the humerus.
As I sat pondering my Andover experience, I contemplated scrawling a poem upon the nearest wall. I squeezed it out, and the poem is as follows:
_Here I sit,
Broken hearted;
Came to learn,
But only started._
Though little more than a couplet and by no means proper iambic pentameter with either masculine or feminine endings, this little ditty does rhyme.
At Andover, I started to learn. I’ve learned a number of things. For example, that three that I thought was a near miss from a four was actually nearly a two. Other things I learned, and sometimes I was overwhelmed.
Over the past year and a half, whenever I got scared, I did what ostriches do. I did not take advantage of my made-for-speed legs and athletic figure to sprint from my problems, nor did I try to fly away using my stunted wings. No, I did the least logical thing possible: I shoved my head underground to hide. Yes, much like the myriad basement dwelling larpers in the world, I had all of my best moments in a musty subterranean room that fought a crippling mold infestation over the summer.
Though many who hide underground are woefully immature, I grew up down there, in Features. This coming into my own was ironic, as in the newsroom I really didn’t have anything of my own. It was the closest place I had ever been to a commune. Your food from Susie’s? Our food from Susie’s. Your computer charger? Our computer charger. Religion? No massive opiate for you; how about you do your work here for the greater good in the journalist’s paradise.
But I digress.
These musings may not make sense to the plebeians among you. I can’t expect you to understand me, I’m a teenager and I’ve powered through four years at Andover, so really nobody gets me. Anyway, the important thing here is learning. I have begun to learn so much, and the most incredible part is that I haven’t yet run out of room.
Homer Simpson once remarked that every time he learns something new, it pushes old stuff right out. Homer and I have quite a bit in common beyond our love of doughnuts, but I do have much more hair than he and am in much better shape. I have learned so much here, whether it be the actual font specifications one is expected to use when assembling the paper, the capital of Djibouti or even the name of the white part of an egg. It’s the albumen. But most important of all, I have learned the value of learning, and I know that there is plenty of room for more to come.
Thus we reach the end of the tour. I hope you’re prepared for the Earth-shattering revelation I have for you — another thing I learned: the final book in the Bible is Revelation, not Revelations.
I leave Andover having learned to make friends, having learned that knowledge is mildly important and having learned how to conduct myself as a functioning adolescent. In all seriousness, what more can you ask?
