As I stood on Honor Hill in Fort Benning, my legs felt like jelly after a 24-mile road march. With a sandy canteen cup full of blue Gatorade, I stood at attention and waited for my drill sergeant to come by and pin the infantry cross rifles on me.

‘Who are you? Are you in my platoon?’ said Drill Sergeant Young.

Private Hartnik was a ghost. If people didn’t know who I was then the possibility of being singled out or in trouble seemed unlikely.

Sadly my first semesters here at NKU used that same strategy. With a full time job and living off campus it was to easy to just get in and get out. I’ll spare you the obligatory senior rant on getting involved on campus and how college is what you make of it. You know the spiel.

Getting involved with The Northerner has been great. I should have done it earlier blah, blah, blah.

To the various coffee and caffeinated beverage merchants of NKU: I would like to say thank you.

To new students in the Communications department: I would advise you to snag a class with Brad Scharlott, his pepperoni bread is great.

To NKU: thanks for giving this non-traditional student a chance.
To the Office of the Bursar: I promise you, the check is in the mail.
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