Another semester is in the gradebook. The book told various academic stories, some ending in triumph, some in tragedy, and most lingering somewhere in between. The letters associated with each of these academic stories, the A’s down to the F’s, were laid in place by various human stories.

Stories of students finding meaning and purpose in their course work, and in their lives. Stories of students finding that college wasn’t for them. Stories of students just doing what they have to do to get by, and move a little closer to a yet to be determined destination. These stories, in all there forms, replay themselves year-after-year, and most likely always will.

Over the course of every semester a few students go AWOL academically. Some show up again a few weeks before finals with a new found urgency, asking…begging, “What can I do to pass this class?” A question that always brings forth a flood of sarcastic comments that make my right eye twitch as I struggle to contain them. My left eye is decidedly lazy, and gazes upon the student with detached disinterest.

Much as one would gaze upon anyone asking you what the very least amount of thought and effort is that they must put into something that you have put a tremendous amount of thought and effort into creating. Once the right eye stops twitching, I generally settle on detached disinterest…and mild sarcasm…so as not to complete disappoint my right eye and my mom.

Speaking of my mom, on December 18th, her and my dad (as far as I know), celebrated their 47th wedding anniversary. 47-years…that’s a long time to live in close proximity to the same human. That’s a year longer than I’ve been alive, well seven months, but who’s counting. Thank you Mom and Dad for the love story you’ve written over the years. It’s been an inspiration and a pleasure to be a part of.

Happy holidays everyone, you won’t be hearing from me again until next year, unless my wife has “plans” for me over the holidays. As my high school shop teacher, Leonard Savelkoul, once said, “We’re all alone down here, and “accidents” happen in the shop.” I would like to acknowledge the fact that if it weren’t for my wife’s planning, and her love of the Christmas season, many of our family and friends would get nothing from our household. No cookies, no cards, no gifts…no nothing.

It’s not that I don’t like the holidays, or my family and friends. I don’t really know what it is? Maybe it’s the fact that it takes me a good while to come to terms with the memories of Christmas past, before I can fully enjoy Christmas present? Whatever the reason, I am thankful for the tremendous thought and effort my wife puts into making the holidays special.

Maybe the grief I give my wife over the Hallmark Christmas movies she loves so much is founded in my own deep seeded feelings of insecure holiday jolliness? Or…maybe they are highly predictable sapfests, acted out by Hollywood flunkies who most likely cry mournful tears of regret for their once promising acting career each time the director yells “cut”. Exceedingly good looking Hollywood flunkies, with perfect hair and teeth, draped in form fitting flannel and Santa hats, but flunkies just the same. Maybe I should have quit while I was ahead? So it goes.

Each of us plays a part in a story of some sort. I hope you’re inspired to shoot for an “A” in yours. Happy Holidays.