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  • What a heavy word, what a little piece of vocabulary loaded to the brim with meaning and stigma. Graduation. Or at least, in the eyes of the general public. It's an illusion that's been built up over time, but in reality, it just feels like any other day. I just got home and watched the trusty old school bus pull away from my house for the very last time, but nothing seems out of place about that. This is the end of the chapter, this is where these things are supposed to happen. I am ready to move on.

    "How does it feel to be graduating?" she asks.
    "Well, how do you feel right now?" I respond.
    "Uh, not bad I guess, pretty normal, why?" she replies, slightly confused.
    "That's pretty much how it feels."

    I think, in the back of my mind, I knew it would be this way. Yes, I am graduating. Yes, I am now in the government's grips as a legal adult and a reserve for the Service, yes I can legally buy lottery tickets and tobacco and pornography. And yes, I now inevitably will attain the stigma of the College Kid, as I leave the grounds of Scituate High School and disappear off to the mystical storybook land of Vermont, swimming in trees and breathing in snow and arriving fashionably late to my classes. Yes, these things are all true. But you know what, I'm also still Henry Floyd. None of these things has reached inside of me and turned any important knobs or typed out any page breaks in my life story. The book goes on, just as it always has, and nothing's stopping me from reading on.
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