February 5, 2011. This Saturday started identically like most others. My alarm rang for the first time at 10:00AM. I let it crescendo for a few beeps, and turned it off. My second alarm triggered ten minutes later. This time, I was more conscious and reacted more quickly. I woke up an hour later. After years of having to wake up early, it is apparent that there are two kinds of waking up. The first kind is the terrible kind, where nothing seems to go your way. It is the kind where you feel the bed pulling you back into its grasp as you try to sit upright. Your joints creak with every move you make. Your eyes refuse to open fully, so the first hour of your day is cast in shadow. The second kind is the one where you wake up with a passion. You know your day will be different from the rest, so when you get up, it already feels like midday. Your day has a purpose, so you bounce off your bed with vigour. On February 5, 2011, I woke up with a passion, because there would be no other Saturday like this one ever again.
The Iron Ring Ceremony, as described by the Iron Ring wardens in the previous week, sounded very ritualistic. It was described as a solemn ceremony, and professional behaviour was emphasized. My positive side envisioned some form of a Stonecutter party, while the negative side recalled the torch-lit secret practices of the Priory of Sion. In either case, the business attire requirement served as the first deviation from a normal day. I did not have my suit jacket, so I decided to wear a tie with my dress shirt. My battle with the perfect knot cannot be captured either in a few minutes or in a few sentences. I confess that I worked on it the night before to reduce the stress of getting dressed up for the next day. In retrospect, a tight noose on an excitable but nerve-wracking day was not a great combination. After a lunch of leftover sushi, I stepped out into the winter air. Either my shirt collar shrank, or my neck fattened, as breathing became uncomfortably difficult. A deep, long exhale was required. Why was I a nervous mess?
At first glance, the iron ring is not that big of a deal. It has no legal significance. It has no true academic significance. It also plays no role in engineering licensing. On its own, its presence on our working pinkie finger means that we made it to the second month of 4B. However, this apparent lack of excitement is the true beauty of the ring. The ring is symbolic of an engineer’s professional pride and humility. It also reminds us and shows others that we have been Obligated. That is, we have taken an expression of intent to follow the true ideals of a professional engineer: to act with the highest professional conduct and prioritize the well-being of society. That this small, light, iron loop fits onto our weakest finger wonderfully contrasts with the seriousness it represents. The ring is not going to grant us our license to practice engineering, but it represents the soul and spirit of the humble engineer. The iron ring is very important after all.
I was thinking about this as I entered the Modern Languages building to exchange my ceremony ticket for my iron ring. Throughout the day, I kept patting my right pants pocket to check that I still had my admission into IRC. The line-ups were organized by the initial of the surname, so I stood behind the “G-L” sign. The warden was friendly. She began sifting through the small white envelopes, each containing the iron ring and a copy of the Obligation for a fellow colleague. Her positive demeanour shifted from amicable to anxious after her fourth time flipping through the envelopes. Did she just lose my iron ring on my behalf? I quickly wondered if she would pay the $20 fee to get a new ring on the refitting day. Thankfully, there were a stack of misplaced L’s in another warden’s pile of envelopes, and I got through into the Modern Languages Theatre. My tie still felt tight.
The Ceremony itself I will not disclose to you. It would be unfair of me to take any part of that experience away from you. The theatre was dark but surprisingly cool. It was stuffy, but it was due more to the importance of the situation. Upon the conclusion of the ceremony, my first thought was that I had to address my serious need for fresh air. Through the lower exit, I exited the theatre into the cold, crisp air. The stifling theatre was replaced with natural light and the humming of the wind. I took a deep breath, and watched my frozen breath slowly dissipate in the afternoon sky. February 5, 2011, 2:17PM. It was a unique day. It was a significant day. It was the beginning of a new stage in my life. And it could all be summed up unassumingly on my pinkie.
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