To All Juniors

One of the advantages of writing rather than speaking a certain message is that it has the capability to do what no pure oratorical entity has ever done—viz. to cross, as it were, the boundaries of time and space such that it is almost as if the words were in a state of continuous utterance much in the same way that the manes on the horses of the Trevi Fountain have held to looking like they’re blowing in the wind at all times for three-hundred years.

In just this way, what I write here is not only to my own class of ‘24, but to all juniors in all times and all places. Having come nigh to finishing this junior year, there are three main things which I see accomplished moving forward, both by myself—making this by way of a resolution—and by all juniors as they approach the start of their last term at college.

The first is a commitment to those in grades below us. Speaking with a certain friend of mine, we agreed that when we were in the lower grades, the seniors kept us walking on the firm and true path like some presbyteral Virgils through that mouth of Hell which is modern academia. I, at any rate, being so blessed by guidance in the earlier half of college, cannot imagine many worse ways of repaying my debt than to not spend myself in doing whatever I can to help those coming up through the ranks.

The second is a recommitment to friends, but especially to those of the one’s same sex. At the moment most of those among my friends are in serious and committed relationships, ones so solid that I don’t think I’d be far from the mark in supposing that some of them will not reach any conclusion or change of status until the old church bells are ringing and the rice being tossed jovially from both sides. In light of this fact, my call is for those who are in relationships to make a concerted effort to not forsake the boys until the gold bands have been exchanged or to not leave the girls without you until you’ve thanked the priest for his good homily on the beauty of marriage. Indeed, there will be time enough—as many as eighty years—for you to spend time with your significant other, can’t you give the lads a good measure of time for two semesters?

The last and most important thing for juniors now is to live the life of a saint. It is very easy to let certain things slide—not spending enough time in prayer, wasting time on stupidaggini, or becoming lazy—because you only have two semesters left before you start a brand spanking new life wherein surely you’ll fix all these things with your rigorous prayer schedule, commitment to your work in the wide world, and newfound industriousness. In truth, you know well that you’ll live the life of a saint next year just as surely as you’ll start working out when you have the time. If there is anything at all—the slightest thing—that you, looking at yourself from the third person, are not wholly satisfied with now, do something about it.

Now these three things come to me sitting here in my office writing because each item above represents some failing of mine, but it strikes me that I’m probably not terribly different in vice than anyone else (the devil only has so many in his playbook). In light of this, pray for me, my dear reader, and God help us as we end one academic year and start another for something like the last time.