SENIOR VIEWPOINT Learning Life’s Lessons Away from Home By David J. Wong

Tim Llewellyn/The Hoya David Wong is never far from home.

My father’s first and only real conversation with me about college consisted of a single sentence. It came the day I received my SAT results during my junior year of high school.

You don’t need to go so far away.

He had always lectured my brother and me about the value of a college education, the opportunities he never had, how we would be the family’s first to go further than high school, how we could attend any university we wanted, anywhere we wanted. He didn’t know how he would get us there, but all we had to do was get in, he’d say, and he would find a way.

This was not that lecture.

I was thumbing through a college guide, comparing my exam scores with the medians at several universities I was interested in, when I mentioned to my father what I was considering.

Columbia has a great pre-law program, and I’ll have a good chance at Georgetown and Cornell.

You don’t need to go so far away.

I don’t remember how I reacted, except that I didn’t really think about it. I was excited about my marks, and my mind didn’t register what my father had said. I figured I had all summer to decide where to apply, and I would settle on something come that fall.

My father never saw me make my decision.

It wasn’t until my freshman year here that I finally understood what my father had meant that day. Never a sentimental man, the father who raised my brother and me alone was trying to tell me that he’d miss me, that he wouldn’t have much time left with us, that he wanted to spend it together, just the three of us, as a family. But he never pressed the matter, afraid that he would seem selfish.

I came to Georgetown because it felt right, the inexplicable sort of right that you gather from your senses and that escapes words. But remembering what he said made me feel selfish. I resolved then to prove to him – and to myself – that being here was right, not by getting perfect grades or getting immersed in student activities, but by being a better person coming out than I was going in.

That was three years ago. A ton of stories and an ounce of truth later, it’s time to settle accounts and take stock.

My father didn’t make it through that summer, never made it to my high school graduation. He won’t make my college ceremony either.

He died on June 4, 1997.

I wonder what he would say to me today, how he would feel about the choices I’ve made.

He’d ask me what I’ve done. And I’d tell him that I’ve taken quite a liking to finance, and that my dream of being a Supreme Court justice is on hold, at least for a little while.

I’d tell him about being an editor at The Hoya, about the great pride I take in being part of such an extraordinary tradition with some extraordinary individuals.

I’d tell him of working with The Corp, and witnessing leadership and commitment manifest in service.

He’d ask whom I’ve met, and I’d tell him of Vincent Miller’s insights and John Glavin’s passion, the humor of John Bailey and the thoughtfulness of Lynn Doran.

I’d tell him about the amazing friends I’ve made, some of whom have graduated, some of whom just got here, and many of whom will share a walk with me 19 days from now.

My father would ask me what I’ve learned, and I’d tell him that there’s not a better walk than through Healy Circle when the flowers are in bloom, that Sundress Day signals the start of spring and that the trip to The Tombs is much more pleasant than the trip from The Tombs.

Of mighty momentum and how four guys and three girls can laugh their way along the East Coast and through the Midwest.

I learned what the best and worst versions of me are like.

How fear is a powerful motivator, how pride is even stronger.

How to miss someone so much it hurts to breathe.

How faith never leaves, just hides sometimes.

I’d tell him that I learned from Georgetown University what tradition is and community means.

That in my brother, I learned what courage looks like. Through him I learned that the greatest victories are celebrated not with applause, but with tears.

And from my father, I learn and learn again what real sacrifice feels like. I hope I have made you proud.

You don’t need to go so far away.

I did need to go away, but you were never far at all.

David J. Wong is a senior in the McDonough School of Business and a former editor in chief, chairman of the Board of Directors and advertising manager for The Hoya.