This past weekend I picked up my son at the airport. He was coming from Toronto, where he spent the week with his girlfriend—a small reward for his hard work in his last weeks of college. In the preceding weeks he took his finals, defended his thesis (and aced it), packed all his bags, subleted his apartment, and managed to get very high marks in the process. As he walked towards the car outside the terminal, I couldn’t help to notice a change in him, for starters he was wearing the blazer I got him, but he also appeared more mature. This was not the 18 year-old boy I dropped off at his residence, Shirreff Hall, the motto of which befittingly reads Esse Quam Videri (To Be Rather Than to Seem). Nor was he the chap I helped move into his first apartment a year later. This was a man, who had (with a little help) adapted and succeeded in his environment. He is a man, who actually loves what he studied, and is quite knowledgeable at it. His thesis reads like it was written by a professional (and I read the whole thing!). “My son is ready!” I thought to myself, as he opened the door with a smile and greeted me, hi dad!