I can’t believe it’s over. Where did the time go?

I remember my first day at Uni; I got completely lost and had to ask everybody I could find where my classes were (but then again, I still have that problem).

I remember the video that my friends and I made in our ninth-grade Spanish class; it was easily the best 12-minute Spanish soap opera anyone has ever created. I played the wise homeless guy, and I was awesome.

I remember scoring a team-high 11 points in my first game for the freshman basketball team (yes, that was more than I scored the entire rest of the season).

I remember joining the soccer team midway through my freshman year. I also remember how long it took for me to realize I was the worst one on the field: about thirty seconds, give or take.

I remember going out for the track team, badly spraining my ankle two days later, and spending the rest of the semester sleeping on the high jump pads in the shed. Those things are insanely comfortable.

I wish I don’t remember launching a flying karate kick at my friend, slipping, and falling flat on my face in the middle of the Grove—but I do.

I remember how Joyce Teator revived my love of English when I was a sophomore. I also remember the time she used the phrase “in a sense” 29 times in a single class period. That was crazy.

I remember Steve Douglas reminding me about the importance of the dress code by confiscating my hats on a regular basis—and I remember the kind people in the Deans’ Office giving them back to me every Friday.

I remember finding my calling in eleventh grade when my friend Ben convinced me to join the newspaper staff. We’ve known each other since fourth grade, but introducing me to journalism was the best thing he ever did for me. Thanks buddy.

Looking back at it all, I have to admit that I’ve had a pretty good high school career. My grades have been solid, I played for some great teams, and I have an amazing circle of close friends.

My Wildcat tenure has never been close to being a one-man show, however, and there are several people I have to thank before I leave.

First of all, I would like to thank my writers and editors. Wildcat was my baby, but it would never have been conceived if it hadn’t been for you (you can take that any way you want to). Best of luck next year, and remember the Platinum Rule: what happens in the Journalism Room stays in the Journalism Room.

Thank you to my teachers, whose names I will now proceed to list (if you get bored easily, you might want to skip a few paragraphs).

My English teachers: Ilene Thaler, Joyce Teator, Kristin Lyons, and Neil King.

My Spanish teachers: Brooke Soles, Cassie Bryer, and Raquel Godoy.

My history teachers: Paula Waxman, Mark Rhomberg, Deborah Robbins, and Steve Clotzman.

My science teachers: Paul Lund and Kevin Paulsen.

My math teachers: Jim Nakabara, Michael Gillenson, Janine Bianchi, and Matthew Josephson.

Thank you to my coaches: Steve Ackerman, Kelly Aguda, Tony Geotis, Carlos Gomez, and Gabriel Orozco. Thank you for giving me the opportunity to hurt myself, even though I was never the most talented person on the field.

Thank you to Erin Wolper for making sure I was always in enough English classes and for signing all those recommendation letters for me.

Thank you to Olga Kokino for providing me with a forum for my crazy ideas and nonsensical rants. Your support has made all this possible, thank you.

Apologies to the people I have made fun of, irritated, or butted heads with; no hard feelings?

Thank you to my friends for putting up with me (usually).

Thank you to my girlfriend Sami, who keeps me sane and—to borrow from Springsteen—gives me reason to believe.

And last but not least, thank you to my family; I know it’s cliché, but without you I wouldn’t be anywhere near where I am now. I love you all.

And now, as I write my last words ever for this newspaper (and wipe away embarrassingly large tears as I do so), I would like to say one last thank you.

You, Wildcat Nation, are the people for whom I poured myself into this publication. I know that some of you never read a word I wrote (heck, most of you probably aren’t even reading this), but nothing made me happier than when one of you would come up to me to argue about one of my articles.

If you ever happen to be visiting the University of Iowa, know that you’ll always have a floor to sleep on. I might even give you a blanket if I like you enough.

Seth Roberts, Wildcat Editor-in-Chief 2008, over and out. Go Red Sox, and thanks for the memories.