The tune in June is "College Starts Soon!"

On the night of Greg's graduation, I sipped halfheartedly on a 1998 Banfi Chianti Classico Riserva. Muggy June nights aren't meant for Chiantis, even the good ones. If I had it to do over again, I think I'd crack the Cava Brut. I'd raise my champagne glass high, wink at Emily, and begin this recitation, which is intended for BOTH my favorite fair-haired Air Force brats:

More-or-less Obligatory Pontificating Graduation Speech by Favorite Aunt

Ah, college. Key to the future, right?

What they may not have told you is that college isn’t just this mythical place where you earn a degree, gain an education, snag a passport to a career. It’s a sanctuary, is what it is, an enclave where you get this priceless interim between high school and the world of full-time jobs. Don’t be in any hurry to get through that interim. Full-time work is highly overrated.

What you really get from college is four years, or six, or eight, to form yourself away from your parents; to grow more into who you will be; to shed expectations; to make brand-new mistakes and friends and opinions. To swim in a sea of curious youths who think nothing of staying up all night drinking bad coffee and analyzing just what it is about Antonin Scalia that is so profoundly disturbing. To position yourself in regard to money and values.

Here’s the thing: Money is the overarching reason people send their kids to college. It’s the Elephant in the Living Room of Non-Wealthy America. Because unless your parents are rich, and generous, you leave college expected to earn your own way.

In the humble opinion of your favorite aunt (you can call me that; I don’t mind. Favorite Aunt Kim. It has a nice ring to it.), it is absurd to expect an 18-year-old, or a 20-year-old, to know what he (or she) wants to be when she (or he) “grows up.” That is to say, when said post-highschooler hits the campus. It’s the rigidly weird, or uniquely blessed, person who KNOWS he’s called to be a firefighter, or doctor, gymnast or lobbyist. If you hear that call, before or during college, more power to you. More likely, you have tinnitus.

How many people do you know who really, truly like their jobs and look forward to going in to work? I can think of three, and it took me 20 minutes to think of them. It’s not the JOB that matters; it’s the connections you make. With others, and yourself.

I’m finally old enough to offer advice, and here it is: Experiment in college, as in love. Try on different courses. Don’t be shy about changing directions, or majors. Because it’s true: The secret of happiness is about doing what you love. Or really like. And you may have to keep searching for what that is.

(Also, if someone else is paying for your college, and especially if it's expensive, hold up your end of the deal by doing the work. That is to say, do as well in your classes as you can, even if you don't have Clue One about what you're doing. This approach will avoid a boatload of trouble.)

Once you’re out in the world of I-must-work-full-time-to-pay-the-mortgage, don’t be afraid to chuck it all and join the Peace Corps; or dive into broadcasting; or start your own profitable pyramid scheme. Whatever cranks your motor.

Others will judge you for not being stifled enough, or lucky enough, to know just what it is you want, and to plow relentlessly towards it. But what I, F.A.K., want you to know, is this: people always judge. Fu** ‘em, I say. As a wonderful therapist once said to me, “The opposite of love is always some form of judgment. And who among us has ever been helped by being judged?”

Here's to you. Both of you.