On becoming a real boy.

Taking a brief interlude from handing out facts as best my addled mind can, I thought I would take the time to comment on a friend of mine completing their PhD yesterday; they had managed to get through their viva (an insidious grueling hidden under the guise of an academic conversation) with minor corrections, which frankly, is what we are all hoping for when we go in there.
We all gathered to eat, drink and toast the hero of the hour - making our ancestors proud. It occurred to me throughout the proceedings that I am surrounded by friends, colleagues and mentors all of whom were either with a PhD or on their way to get one - it is common practice to talk about where you are research wise, where you are going, often to such distressed replies as "oh my god you haven't got an appendix yet? get one!".
When you are surrounded by such people, and you watch your friends slowly achieving this long term aim, it becomes something of a running joke that you are not a real person until you achieve your doctorate. Then, and only then, can you join the ranks of the "whole". I am only at the beginning of my saga, and have some way to go before I must slay the Midgard Serpent that is the Viva; but when the time comes I hope I am surrounded by a group as I am now - as much as it is a solitary exercise writing a thesis, knowing some other poor bugger is trying to become a real boy at the same time is comforting (While our Jiminy Cricket supervisors look on and lament our stupid ass decisions!).