My walk across Occidental‘s commencement stage that sun soaked Sunday in early May 1998 was my Neil Armstrong moment.
One small step for man, one giant leap for motherfuckers like me who almost didn’t make it.
Indeed, I’d reached escaped velocity. I was in a new orbit. The rocket boosters at my feet damn near scorched my new dress kicks (shot-out Payless).
Now, the only thing that might temper that exuberance was an official document, uhum, DELINQUENT NOTICE, placed in the folio where my diploma ought have been.
THIS IS THAT NOTICE!
Why do I still have this mother of all disrespect some 22 years later?
Because the laughing stops me from crying.
Have I since paid the debt?
What, you writing a fucking blog or something?
but yeah.
