UPDATE 9/19/99: Three and a half months into the real world. I'm a programmer at an insurance company in Bloomington now, which mostly means I read COBOL that is older than I am and look for two-digit years. Nobody taught us COBOL in school. I learned it in about two weeks from a green-bar printout and a very patient guy who has been there since 1971. Our code is going to be fine. I'm still on call New Year's Eve.
DAYS UNTIL 1/1/2000 (as of this update): 104
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I graduated. On Saturday, May 8, 1999, at the morning ceremony, I walked across a stage in Normal, Illinois, and a man I had never met handed me an empty diploma cover. (The real diploma came in the mail in June. It is in a frame on my wall and I look at it more than I would admit.) Four years, one change of major, two computers, one dorm room, one apartment and about eleven thousand cups of vending machine coffee.
My grandma Claire spent the whole weekend telling everybody we were "the last class of the millennium." I made the mistake of explaining that technically the millennium doesn't end until December 31, 2000. She told me not to be smart. She was right. It was her weekend too.
All the pictures are from my mom's camera. She had doubles made and mailed me a set with a sticky note on top that said SCAN THESE. So I bought a flatbed scanner with some of my graduation money, and here we are. Click on a picture to see it bigger.
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8:15 a.m. Me, Dan Nelson and Dave Rowley, my roommates for three years, in the parking lot of our apartment building, next to the dumpster, because Mom wanted the "good light." Dan never did find his cap that morning; we found it that night under the couch. Dave is giving him bunny ears, which is the most Dave thing that has ever happened. |
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The view from the cheap seats. My family's seats, at the very top of the arena. I am one of the black dots on the floor. Dad swears he could see me. He could not. The flash went off and lit up the chair in front of them and some other family's dad in a plaid shirt. |
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The family. Grandma Claire, Mom (Linda) and Dad (Henry) right after. Dad is holding the camcorder. He taped the whole ceremony, all two hours and forty minutes of it, and yes, I've been told it's there whenever I want to watch it. Also, please note the light pole coming out of the top of my head. |
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Becca. My girlfriend Becca Poteat on the Quad, wearing my cap, which honestly looks better on her. She's a senior in elementary education this year, so she is in Normal and I'm in Bloomington, which is about a ten-minute drive, so it's not exactly a long-distance relationship. I still complain about it. |
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The cap toss. Mom pressed the button about half a second late, so you'll have to take my word for it that there was a cap. It's up there. It came down on the sidewalk and I had to go look for it under a bush. |
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Dinner. A steakhouse in Bloomington that night, all five of us in one booth. Mom is toasting me with her iced tea. Grandma ordered the petite sirloin and then ate a third of mine. Dad paid and said the words "a good investment" at least twice. |
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The open house, May 22. Two weeks later, back home in Rockford, in my parents' garage. Dad swept it out, borrowed tables from church, and ran the sloppy joes all afternoon in a sport coat, because he is Dad. The cake was red and white. Grandma held court from the lawn chair by the door. About sixty people came through, and I talked to all of them about "what's next" sixty times. |
- Me: programmer, Bloomington, since June 1. One-bedroom apartment with a couch from Dave's parents' basement.
- Dan: finance degree, now at a bank in Chicago. Takes the train. Wears a tie every day. We don't talk about it.
- Dave: fifth year, marketing. He would like everybody to know it's "a victory lap." Graduates in May 2000, which I guess makes HIM the last class of the millennium. Sorry, Grandma.
- Becca: senior year, student teaching in the spring.
To Mom and Dad, for four years of tuition checks, care packages and not asking about my grades freshman spring. To Grandma, for coming down from Freeport and sitting through the whole thing at 76 without a single complaint about the stairs. To everybody who came to the open house or sent a card. To Dan and Dave, for three years of cold pizza and not killing me. The thank-you notes went out in June. Mom checked.
Visitors since June 6, 1999:
   
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Mail: [email protected]
Last updated 9/19/99. Written in Notepad, no FrontPage was harmed.
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