Georgetown University’s Newspaper of Record since 1920

The Hoya

Georgetown University’s Newspaper of Record since 1920

The Hoya

Georgetown University’s Newspaper of Record since 1920

The Hoya

Sadness and Smiles After Four Fulfilling Years

This was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to write at Georgetown. Forget the 40-page paper I had to write as a freshman for my crazy Buddhism professor. This was it. This was the toughest without a doubt – not because what I had to say was so complicated, or that I didn’t have any thoughts on the subject, but because of what it meant. This was supposed to be my reflections on my experience at THE HOYA and at Georgetown.

That meant that they were over, and that thought sucked.

So I put it off.

Then I sat down again the next day, watched the cursor blink and wondered if the paper clip had any good ideas. Then I put it off some more, headed over to Yates to try and clear my head. Then I realized something important. Who cares about this article?


It’s 800 words that only my mom (hi mom, by the way) and girlfriend will read. And on top of that, how am I supposed to cram four years of Georgetown into a handful of paragraphs? Completely impossible. So I’ll try to hit a few of the highlights, some of the lowlights and the memories that I never want to forget.

There is no feeling that even comes close to waiting behind the stage door of Gaston Hall during an a cappella concert. I did it four times with Superfood, and it got better with each and every one. The anticipation, the crowd, the energy. Nothing comes close to that.

And I’ll never forget coming home after that four-overtime disaster against Notre Dame. It completely ruined my whole weekend. I was in the second row with my roommates. The game took what felt like at least seven hours and, by the time it was over, we were completely tapped out. We couldn’t even eat McDonald’s. We just sat there, sick, and then went home and slept.

I think I’ve watched Zoolander, Old School and Super Troopers at least 25 times each. I even won an election giving a speech that Hansel gave.

I’ve also had the displeasure of being ripped in a HOYA theater review for 10,000 people to read. I was a “minor disaster.” Good times. I’ll cherish that one forever.

And then there was that time that the gentlemen working the door at Rhino’s kindly pulled me off the dance floor and kindly suggested that it might be time to go home. Funny, but I only know that story because someone told me that it happened. Weird.

Karaoke at The Tombs; explaining to my colleagues on the Hill what “Senior Disorientation” was; going to the White House Correspondent’s Association Dinner; living in a house with a dead squirrel in the closet; thinking the sniper and his white van were going to get me at 4 a.m., only to have someone throw a Washington Post at me; trying frantically to get a hold of my family on Sept. 11, 2001; taking backpacks to Wagner’s; the words “sangweetch,”dece,” and “digbar;” the first assignment I got here at THE HOYA and the person that assigned it. So many memories, not nearly enough space to list all of them.

For the last month, the most significant thought in my mind has been whether or not I got everything in while I was here at Georgetown. Did I miss anything? Am I going to have any regrets when I walk through the Healy gates for the last time as an undergrad?

I thought about things like never having a class with a Jesuit or never going to see a speaker on campus. I have never been swimming in a fountain (although I plan to change that). Sometimes it would keep me up at night. I remember a couple occasions, sitting on the stoop of my house, looking toward John Carroll and Healy, and wondering if I got everything in that I wanted.

I looked at some of the stuff that my friends did; I thought about how they went on Escape, worked for The Corp – you know, just did all the things that supposedly makes Georgetown what it is.

Then I realized that I didn’t, but more importantly I couldn’t. First of all, you can’t possibly do everything on the Hilltop in four years. And second, there is no “typical” Georgetown experience. It’s all about doing what makes you happy. Sure, I’ve made some serious mistakes. I have plenty of regrets, too. But 50 years from now, when I’m sitting in the chair I won at Senior Auction, thinking about Georgetown, I’ll smile. And that’s all that matters.

I’ve always been the kid who wears his heart on his sleeve. I’m terrible at lying and I’m equally bad at pretending that there’s nothing wrong. I don’t want to go. I’m not ready to go. It hurts to think about leaving a place that I love so much, but I have no choice. It’s time. Somebody cue up the Elgar.

Mike Santore is a senior in the College and is a former Senior Web Editor, Sports columnist, and member of THE HOYA’s Board of Directors.

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