There are less than 24 hours remaining in our time in Cheraw, South Carolina.  As the sun sets, we enter our final night's sleep in our rented beds.  We whisper heartfelt goodnights to our lurking buddies, the cockroaches, and we smile as we nervously tip toe on our bathroom floor as its rot creaks underneath our feet.   We wipe the final drops of sweat off of our brows, wondering how we ever survived in a house whose air conditioning was as deficient as ours.

Last night, we ate at Sarah Spruill’s lovely home, one wing of which was built in 1778.  She and two other couples prepared a perfect Southern cook-out style dinner while we talked about our time in Cheraw and the lovely house by which we all became very intrigued.  After dinner, we walked around her home and asked her to explain every little trinket and every piece of furniture, all of which had a history that extended back to the Civil War, the Revolutionary War, or even the remnants of her family’s Scottish royalty.  It was a home so lovely that it was nothing short of worthy for the well acclaimed show If Walls Could Talk, and all its contents highly appraised on The Antiques Roadshow.   After touring a home with a tour guide whose kindness could not be matched, I determined that everything within the homes and people of the city of Cheraw is a precious jewel—a jewel in historic terms, or a jewel in terms of value to one’s sentiments.

That night, I thought more about my experience in Cheraw—the good, bad, and the ugly.  What would this poor little house say if its walls could tell stories?  Would it complain of being kept awake by our midnight ramblings, or groan in disdain about the constant clutter and mess that blanketed its furnishings at all times?  How about the thousands of quote boards that cover its kitchen walls or the multitudes of crusty, greasy dishes that piled higher than Mount Fuji?  I can imagine that even the walls would chuckle in remembrance of the tragic exterminator’s uninhibited moments on our bathroom floor.  Maybe they beg for forgiveness for allowing its stove to catch fire arbitrarily, or allowing its dryer to overheat.  The things that this house has seen, the laughter and tears and arguments and happiness that it has housed, probably add up to a jewel far more valuable to us than any other experience that we have had so far in college.

As for HiTek Learning Systems, I feel that my time there has properly come to an end.  To be honest in this blog, I will say that I have felt that my duties there have been slightly futile and even unwanted at times.  I felt like I was giving service at the beginning of my time there, but I was never able to gain the trust of my colleagues or of my students simply because they have walls that my race, age, and naiveté did not permit me to crumble.  As I said in my closing speech at the BN ceremony on Saturday, I can only hope that I may have made the tiniest difference, although I may not be aware of it.  I hope that my work could help James raise his GED test scores by the ten points that he needed to pass, or that I helped them do even just one more math problem than they were planning to.  That’s all I could hope to do for Cheraw and for myself.  I only leave with the regret that I do not feel that I have made a more lasting imprint.

Overall, I am sad to leave Cheraw because I feel that I am losing a home and a family that I was getting attached to.  I found a network of friends that I lacked and longed for in my first year of college, and we have lived in a home that, in all its quirks and dangers, has brought us together—both literally and figuratively—and I think that is what I will miss the most.  So, I’d like to give thanks to all of the BN’s, who made it impossible to have a bad time, and a special thanks to the Upper House, a group of people whose friendship has far surpassed most friendships that I have ever had.  I embrace and am grateful for the times that I have had here, the things that I have learned here, and the people that I have met here.

Thank you Cheraw, and goodbye!