2000 August 10 Thursday

I step out of the vehicle onto the Brigham Young University campus in my creme khakis, my black cap and gown, and my black Doc Martens that walk in the Philippines and in France.

I see a sea of similarly attired individuals, none of whom I know.

I see Elder Henry B. Eyring of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles. He's the embodiment of educated humility, and I want to shake his hand.

I meet Emily Gordon, a fellow New York City intern, and Melanie Burgess, a fellow 1994 Alta alum.

I see one of my favorite professors: Professor Kathryn S. Egan.

"What have you decided to do?" asks the amazing woman who introduces me to account planning and ethics.

"I'm at Y&R New York."

"Are you coming back for the master's program?" she inquires. The woman who teaches my final communications courses, she stands at the side of Dr. Alf Pratte, the man who is my freshman-year faculty mentor and who teaches my first communications course.

"I will . . . someday," I say as my line of caps and gowns begins to file.

I sit in the Marriott Center during the BYU commencement exercises. Everything seems easy.

Then I remember the autumn I arrive at the university. The springtime of my lifetime segues into my coldest winter. So it's hard. Heavenly Father helps me survive.

And six years after the starting season, I am happy to be home, a place I forbid myself to stay.

Neil Postman, a New York Times bestselling author and New York University professor, follows me from New York City and says a few words of comparison and contrast about the Athenians and the Visigoths at my commencement. He writes a book called Technopoly that I read in a new media course.

Truly, I end as I begin. Am I a fearless learner, or am I but an A-earner?

My father flowers me in a congratulatory pink lei.

My mother decorates me in pink kisses.

Sun shines, and peace abides in a place where I once feel none.

Pizza Factory. Salad. Bread twists. Outside. Mists. Blue Hawaiian souvenir shirt. Raspberry and orange Italian cream sodas. Ham and pineapple pizza. Oatmeal chocolate chip cookies to go. We feast freely and cheaply and happily.

Then, like any good Mormon family, we go to Costco.