(Originally appearing in the May '06 copy of Issues Magazine online. -- Ed.)


As summertime approaches, many of our best and brightest are preparing to jump one of life's major hurdles -- graduating from high school. It's right up there with 'earning a learner's permit', 'sneaking into a kegger', and 'getting to second base' on any red-blooded teenager's list of things to accomplish.


For most kids, the graduational festivities include some sort of keynote speaker, usually an educator or community leader or some other important-looking stuffed suit. The speaker is there to look solemn and dour and to impress upon the graduates the magnitude of the cross roads at which they stand. One accomplishment behind them, and a taste of college life ahead. That, the speaker will stress, is the first important step towards the goal -- a life of cautious choices, fiscal responsibility, and conservative attire.


Yawn. Those people probably drive the speed limit and pay their taxes on time, too. Poindexters.


'College life' isn't about 'learning responsibility' or 'finding a path'; it's a last chance to get crazy and act like a kid again. Soon enough, your path will find you, and you'll manage to be responsible enough to scrape enough cash together for rent, beer, and mac 'n' cheese. Trust me, you'll find a way. It may involve stripping on weekends or donating blood -- lots and lots of blood, preferably your own -- but you'll make it work. Have faith.


Meanwhile, listen up kids. Forget those stuffed-shirt chumleys looking down on your mortarboards and preaching about math moderation, mutual funds, and majoring in math. There'll be plenty of time for pocket protectors and responsible investing when you're dead! Here’s the graduation speech you ought to be hearing:


"Ladies and gentlemen. Graduating seniors. Parents. Families. Teachers. Miscellaneous hangers-on.


Many of these young men and women are about to take their first tentative, halting steps into the world of college life. They'll flee the nest in their hand-me-down cars, toting milk crate 'furniture' and raging hormones to a campus far, far away. Before they go, I'd like to offer a few words of advice, based on my own collegiate experience.


First, many of you likely have grand plans for your futures. You've picked out a major, decided where you'll start your career, maybe even imagined what your house or spouse or kids will look like.


Well, forget it.


College has a way of scrambling your plans like margaritas in a blender. Today, you think you'll be a history major. Two weeks into your freshman year, you'll meet some hot guy or chick who's an artiste, and next thing you know, you're ass-deep in watercolors and pottery clay. When you eventually break up -- and you will; relationships with artistes never work out -- you'll fall into economics, or chemistry, or something. Maybe even history again; who knows? The point is -- ride the wave. Majors are for college seniors. Old, jaded, art-hating college seniors. Give it time.


The same goes for Greek life. Maybe you've already got strong feelings about joining a fraternity or sorority. You think those folks are cool, or jokes, trendsetters, or stuck-up rich kids. Fine.


Just be prepared to forget everything you think you think about them, when your freshman roomie joins one. Or doesn't. Or *gasp* joins the wrong one. That'll shake you up a bit. It's then, and only then, that these words will make sense to you:


'Campus Greek life provides access to three things -- booze, sex, and monthly dues. If you can score the first two on your own, then you probably don't need to hassle with the third. If not, it might be worth the cash. You won't know for sure until you're sitting in your dorm room in the fall, horny, sober, and alone, with Pledge Week just around the corner. It's a delicate choice. Don't make it now.'


There's more you should know, certainly. Never schedule a class before nine in the morning, for instance. If you're drinking anything made in a bathtub or garbage can, make sure home is within crawling distance. Yes, you can survive on pizza and Old Milwaukee for a whole semester. No, wine from a box is not worth the raging hangover the next morning.


And if everyone tells you the guy is an ass or the girl is a psycho bitch -- believe it. You can't change the nutcase. Don't even try. They're probably an artiste, anyway.


Mostly, though, don't be afraid to go learn your own lessons. Skip a few classes. Do a few keg stands, streak across a few quads, and road trip to Canada for the weekend on a Friday night whim? Because in four years -- or in my case, nine -- it'll all be over. They'll stick you behind a desk or a fry cooker or in a cubicle somewhere, and the party's over. It's a lot tougher to 'dabble' out there in the real world, and skipping work will get you worse than taken off the Dean's List. And if you think your union dues will pay for booze and sex...well, maybe you're right, if you happen to become a Teamster.


But that's a speech for another day. Now get your barely-legal asses out there and make me proud. Class dismissed!"