The end of a semester brings with it a pause for reflection. Reflection on both the positive and negative events that occurred over the past three months and 54 issues of the Skiff. The final year of the 20th century opened with events both positive and negative. Y2K did not melt down the world's computers and release Russia's nuclear weapons. Thank you, Y2K, for being the most over-hyped thing since New Coke. The TCU community paused from its regular schedule of partying and studying to raise over $50,000 for one of its own: TCU student (now TCU alumna '00) Robbyn Kindle. Kindle, in need of a liver and small bowel transplant, is waiting for organs to become available at the University of Nebraska Medical Center. That she is there at all is due to the generosity of TCU students, faculty and staff. Thank you for opening your hearts. The TCU administration, after years of meandering in the 1950s, raised the salaries and benefits of staff members. People work hard in thankless, but very necessary, jobs. Thank you for recognizing them. This semester also had its share of lowlights. A F-2 tornado hit downtown Fort Worth March 28, causing damage in the hundreds of millions and claiming four lives. Every now and again nature reminds humans who really rules this planet. Lest we should forget. While this past semester may not have inspired you or seared itself into your memory, thank you for taking a few minutes out of your day and to let us bring you the news.
Honesty can go a long way This senior column is my last chance to share my thoughts with the university. Instead of trying to make a bold, profound statement, I think I'm just going to give you a taste of my college experience. When I came to TCU, I literally knew nothing. It was the first time I had ever been away from my family for a long period of time. It was the first time I would ever get my own room, and it was the first time I would be completely on my own. Like many other freshmen, I was scared. But the person who stepped on this campus four years ago, is certainly not the same person who is leaving. See, I came in thinking I would change the world. I thought I could really make a difference and fight for the many causes I believed in. But instead I found myself. College, for me, was really about learning - not only about sociology, history or math. But about how to live an honest life. Honesty, to me, is the most rewarding and fulfilling lessons anyone can learn, be it in a university setting or not. The more you are honest with yourself and with others, the more you can gain from the interaction you have with those around you. So here's my chance to be honest with all those who have been a part of this experience with me, whether as a Skiff reader or as a close friend. I have truly enjoyed the time I have spent working for the Skiff. Not only did it provide me with skills, but also it has given me the opportunity to meet and work with highly talented and intelligent people. Especially to the staff this semester, I want to say thank you. I know sometimes your work goes unappreciated, but know that you have been a tremendous asset to the paper and to me. There are a few people very special to me walking around this campus. You know who you are. Your friendships have allowed me to grow as an individual. Everything you have done for me really has helped me gain the confidence I have needed for a long time. You've helped me face what I have been running from. Thank you. Not very many people know the value of family, including me. Until recently. My mother, father, brothers and sisters have all shown me that when you need to count on their support, you will get it. I am very honored to have been able to share my life openly and honestly with my parents. And I am in awe of the way they can give so much, even when they don't have it. Mom and Dad, thank you for everything. I love you. Professors really aren't the intimidating people that I thought they were when I sat down in my first survey of biology class. Professors want to be a part of your life and really do care about how you are doing not only in their class, but in your life. Thank you. Sometimes what you're trying to say doesn't always come out. There were many times that I have sat quietly in a classroom wanting to shout my opinions and wanting to be heard. If you have something to say, just say it. You'll feel much better afterward. Words can really hurt. And if you don't watch what you say, you might have a negative impact on someone around you. You never know when you're telling a gay joke, who in your group might be struggling with whether or not to come out of the closet. It may be your best friend or it may be an editor in chief of the Skiff. I know for many people, homosexuality is a hard thing to accept and to face. It was for me. But I know one day people will see that it's not a sin. They will see beyond fears and insecurities and into the face of someone who walks beside them in life. Someone who seeks life's basic needs. I don't expect it soon, but I'm not losing hope. Being a part of this university and this publication has been a wonderful experience, and it surely has been a long ride. At least I know that when I walk across the stage on May 13, I will be leaving an honest man.
Editor in Chief Joaquin Herrera is a graduating
senior journalism and Latin American studies major from Corpus Christi.
"You can't do sincerity," my roommate told me when I asked her advice on a senior column topic. I gave her a dirty look and sulked. But she is right. Sure, I can write about Elián (like half the world) or gun control, but when it comes to the personal - no way. That shows how much I haven't learned at TCU. I thought when I came to college I would find out who I really was. I purposely chose a college 1,000 miles from home because I wanted to experience something new, to be challenged. Instead, I found myself applying to other schools at the end of my freshman year. I hadn't anticipated what being a religion major meant. In some of my classes, I would try my best to refute whatever the professors said. It was my duty to present the evangelical Christian view, you see. But back at Wiggins Hall, my religion texts were often wet with tears. I see now that I have lied to myself and my professors about the impact of what I have learned on my life. I have looked down upon other religion majors and others who have changed their views during college. How shallow their faith must have been, I thought. But now, I see that it is me who has been dismissive of people's faith struggles. In my effort to be the friendly fundamentalist, I shoved challenges to my faith aside. I will graduate in May without having come to terms with what it means to be a Christian. Even after nights of crying in prayer, heated debates and professors' guidance, I am still left wondering who I am. My three years at TCU have been difficult, and I look back with some regrets. I want to be cheerful and praise all the wonderful things I have learned (and I really did), but now is also the time for an apology. My sophomore year, one of my friends told me she was gay. She had hinted for a while she needed to tell me something, and I already knew what it was. I dreaded the question coming. When she asked me what I thought the Bible said about homosexuality, I told her that I thought the Bible said it was a sin, not any worse or better than any other sin, but a sin nonetheless. My words were slow and painful, for her I am sure, as well as for me. We gradually drifted apart. I want to take back those words. I want to take back the hesitation in my eyes when a friend asked me if I believed that gay marriage should be legal. I think that hesitation hurt worse than the vilest slur. Yes, I went home and cried, but I never said, "please forgive me." I want to take back those words not to be politically correct but to prevent causing the people I love pain. Frankly, I still don't know what to believe about a lot of things anymore, but I don't think I can hold onto beliefs that hurt people any longer. Beliefs can hurt people just as much as actions. Of course the gay community was hurt by the Matthew Shepard slaying, but the states that currently deny gay people the same rights of straight people probably hurt just as much. Legislators couldn't separate their beliefs from their actions. Neither can we.
Copy Desk Chief Tara Pope is a graduating senior religion major from Longview. She can be reached at (tpope13@aol.com).
Life as I have known it for four years, well, 22 years, will be over in two weeks. But in life, there are some things we can change and some things we cannot. So, barring a failed class or two, my graduation date is set in stone. But what I've learned here is that life is not set in stone. That realization slapped me in the face when my Mom died last March. As you might expect, my life changed dramatically. I couldn't begin to say how it changed in the small amount of space here, but I can say why. The first time I went home after she died and she didn't come in my room to tell me good night, I knew I couldn't change the situation. But still, I realized I could let the situation change me. And how glad I am that I did. I realized I wasn't living the life I wanted to live. For whatever reasons, I felt trapped in a life I didn't really want to live. For a long time I had fooled myself into thinking I was the person I wanted to be. College is about having the time of your life, and I wasn't going to let anything get in my way. But eventually I came to understand that having the time of your life is relative. If for some that means hitting the bar for happy hour and then closing the place down, that's fine. If it means reading a book in a secluded study carrel and then closing the library down, then, well, good luck in the real world. For me, it means being myself and not the person others want me to be. It means being honest with myself about who I am and who I spend time with. It means going to class because I want to learn, not because the professor takes attendance. It means spending all day on the couch playing Nintendo with my roommate and then all night working on a paper. It means that when you're on a road trip with friends and you drive by a sign on a rural highway that says "Goats for Sale," you either buy a goat or steal the sign. It means spending almost every night of eight semesters at the college newspaper, making some of the best friends I'll ever know. It means meeting the girl of my dreams and never letting her go. If there's one thing everyone should learn in college, it's not how to write a composition and it's not how to calculate Zambia's gross domestic product. Just learn to be yourself. And hope it doesn't take something drastic to make you realize how important that is.
Image editor Jason Crane is a graduating
senior news-editorial major from Shreveport, La. |
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