The Last Farewell

“Fare thee well/ My own true love/ Farewell for a while/ I’m going away/ But I’ll be back/ Though I go 10,000 miles” - Mary Chapin Carpenter, “10,000 Miles”

Jonathan Chapman / Columnist

I hate goodbyes. Leaving home in August and moving to college signaled a great change in my life. I went from a semi-parasitic dependent to a somewhat independent young adult. And in the process of gaining this great title of young adult, I lost the certainty of my past. I no longer have the safety net of home, at least not how it used to be.

When I went home for fall break I was shocked. My Waffle House, the one I had spent countless hours sitting and chatting in, the one I read in, the one I would eat pecan pie in at 1 a. m., was nothing but a pile of old crumbled rubble. That place was my comfort zone.

Upon arriving at college, many of my new friends had never heard of Waffle House. If they had, they hadn’t eaten there. They would ask me “Don’t they only serve breakfast there?” or “Isn’t it closed?” when I would ask if they would accompany me at 1:30 a.m. to the nearest yellow-and-brown house.

“Ignorance can be cured, stupidity is forever.” The immortal words of my father echoed in my head. All they needed was to be introduced to the Waffle House experience.

In my high school days, Waffle House, or Wa Ho, as we called it, was just another part of growing up — like nightly homework or daily practice. There were three Waffle Houses within a mile of my school — all three on the same road, Virginia Avenue

I suppose that while my fellow Atlantans may understand my connection with this place, a lot of my other readers won’t understand. Waffle House is where I came upon the “great teenage revelations.” It was here that I said many goodbyes.

And where did all those memories go? Sure I have a menu from the eatery that a waitress gave me once, and I can order my hash browns the same way at any Waffle House. But will it be the same? No. It never will.

That’s what makes me saddest about leaving home. It’s not so much missing my family and friends as it is missing me. Missing the way life used to be.

Last May, I gave a speech to my church. One of my goals was to figure out exactly how to bid goodbye to the congregation and place I had grown up in. I tried. I couldn’t.

Instead, I thought of an old family friend, who would not allow one to say goodbye when ending a visit. One was only allowed to say, “I love you.” That’s what I told my church. But I can’t do that with my past. I can't go back to that church. I can’t live in my past. I feel almost like I have lost a home.

And that is why I am dreading my farewell in May 2007. I don’t want to lose this home too. I’ll say it. I’m scared. And any person who claims he or she isn’t just a tiny bit worried is lying — even those graduating this May.

I’m sure it’s completely natural to have these fears. But it’s more than just fear. It’s disappointment as well. There is so much hype that leads up to a graduation. You wait excitedly for the appointed day. Finally, it arrives. You walk up the stage and grab a piece of paper that makes you king of the world for 2.3 seconds. Then it's over. You just spent so much of your life working toward that piece of paper and in less than three seconds, it is finished. All the reading, writing, studying, worrying and sleepless nights were for one sheet of paper and three seconds.

Granted, this piece of paper holds the key to success further down the road. But there is some sort of let down involved.

When I received my high school diploma, it was the end of an era for me. I had attended this particular school for 14 out of my 18 years. As I reached my hand out for that certificate, I shut a door on the life I had known for more than a decade. I put the final stamp on my career as a high-schooler and it was the beginning of having to move on with my life.

My scoutmaster, with whom I worked with closely at a summer camp, and who graduated from the same school as me, probably put it the best. He said that “when you leave, it's like having a door slam shut behind you. You can’t go back.” That is so hard to hear sometimes. What if I want to go back?

But now I am at college and meeting fantastic, loving, fascinating people. The bottom line is that I am having the time of my life. But deep within me, I know it's all going to end … again.

Friends remind me that I have four years (well, a little over three now). That is just it. I only have four years to make friends, to live college, to have fun before I have to grow up for good.

It’s a harsh reality. One that is not fun in the making. You might say that life is full of goodbyes, that there never really is a last farewell. Fine. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to look forward to them.

To all those who are counting down the days until you bid Elon farewell, just remember my old friend – the one who wouldn’t let you say goodbye, only “I love you.”