If executed perfectly, a farewell can be a beautiful thing. And as sad as good-byes can be, there is something glamorous about them. When we are forced to part, we think about what we are parting with. Often, upon reflection, we are more grateful for what we had and proceed with a degree of humility we should have carried with us all along.
This is why I look forward to farewell columns. Usually there are seniors who want to share their sentiments with those fortunate few who have some time left in the magical city we call (our second) home. Everyone wants to re-live their dorm-room antics and lovingly recite their college roommates' idiosyncrasies, but few can do it better than the students who write and entertain us on a comfortably consistent basis.
Funny stories and relatable feelings make the parting words that this paper publishes more enjoyable than the columns that precede them; it's nothing short of refreshing to see the usual, quasi-professional college journalist façade cast aside in favor of a vulnerable kid who just wants to stop time in its tracks.
No matter how it's said, the message is always the same: enjoy your time while you've still got it, because it goes too fast. And I'm truly sorry to deprive you of this valuable lesson, but you have to understand, I have another year here to take everyone and everything for granted. A small part of me wishes I could be in on the farewell fun but the rest of me knows I'm fortunate to have to wait my turn.
My one-year deal as the Tuesday sports columnist for The Daily Cardinal has expired but some reports have indicated that the paper may exercise it's one-year option on me to make sure there's some experience on next year's roster.
In the event that this happens, I'll take the offseason to analyze my written voice, address the areas that need improvement, and perhaps kick around some new fonts. I should also mention that the new-look me will have, quite literally, a new look.
I'm probably going to retire that mugshot because it's nearly two years old and next year I'd like to flash a more playful visage that says something like, Hi, it's nice to meet you\ or ""You can find my number at the bottom of the page."" That would beat my current, forgettable picture which says, rather plainly, ""This, to my right, is the paper I work for.""
And it seems like just yesterday I was adjusting to a world with censored opinion and something called a ""word count,"" but I've warmed up to the fact that people will judge me solely on what I write in my weekly allotment of space. Because, as (some guy named) Olin Miller once said, ""We probably wouldn't worry about what people think of us if we could know how seldom they do.""
But hey, we're all self-conscious—I'm just the second to admit it.
And it's true, we writers labor nervously over our word choice—and every element of our crafted self-expression—while we readers (first and foremost, I'm one of those) distantly scan the pages, letting the ink seep into one retina and out the other. If a word is used poorly or a point is lost, few readers will notice.
Most people—myself included—pick up a paper to kill time in class or at work, not search the content for sound arguments to challenge or affirm fervent beliefs.
The prospect of permanence, however, makes the writer care about insignificant details because any mistake, is a mistake on record—a mistake that, given the medium, is extremely easy to point out.
So maybe next year I will take an offensive approach, pointing out other people's mistakes to take attention away from any that I might make. That could work, by the way, because there will be plenty to write about. Favre's mistake, for instance; it's not like he was going to win a Super Bowl in his final season and I doubt he wanted to break George Blanda's record for career interceptions.
Or possibly the mistake that the Houston Texans made when they passed on the NFL Offensive Rookie of the Year, though I might take it easy on them because I don't mind the implications—now, at least New Orleans finally has a Bush that might be of some assistance.
But being positive and grateful—rather than cutthroat and critical—still isn't out of the question. With any luck, I won't be hardened by the by the real world that looms, but rather grateful for my four years of Madison memories that I get to take with me.
For now though, in place of a Dr. Seuss quote or an African proverb, I'll leave you with several words that are equally unoriginal, but just as much my own.
Thank you all for reading.
Ben Hubner can be contacted at bphubner@wisc.edu.
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