Midway Toast: What’s the Point?
I am not one for needless pomp or ritual. It’s not that I am rigidly unsentimental, I just find most ceremonies to be a nuisance. Commencements? I’d do away with them. Awards ceremonies? Get rid of them. Verbose introductions to guest speakers? Unnecessary. If you have something to celebrate, certainly go out and do so. But celebrate with close friends and family, the ones who will actually enrich your experience and create fond memories. Anyway, I digress.
With my predisposition against ceremony and ritual in back of mind, though, it may come as no surprise that I only reluctantly and skeptically attended the Law School’s annual tradition of the Midway Toast to the Class of 2026 on Wednesday, January 29, in Caplin Pavilion.[1] Hosted at the beginning of each 2L class’s spring semester, the Midway Toast commemorates the halfway point of students’ time at the Law School. Three semesters completed, three more to go. One summer done, one more remaining. $116,550 of tuition paid, $116,550 left to go.
The Class of 2026 was served delicious but underwhelming charcuterie boxes complemented, in contrast, with an impressive supply of Prosecco served in glass champagne flutes. After several minutes of maneuvering in an attempt to open my box of meats and cheeses without spilling or dropping my drink—I ultimately employed the flute-in-elbow-against-chest technique—several “clinks” pierced the din of small talk and focused everyone’s attention to the front of the room. Dean Kendrick ’06 proceeded to offer her first Midway Toast as Dean with refreshingly concise and poignant remarks about the significance of what has been accomplished thus far and an enthusiastic charge for what remains. She invoked rich imagery in her remarks, analogizing the Midway Toast, for instance, to the peak of a scenic hike—the most difficult climb is behind us, but there is plenty more trail remaining. I did not entirely begrudge this moment of the event. In fact, hearing Dean Kendrick’s remarks—her first to the Class of 2026—was my main motivation for attending.[2]
Wednesday’s Midway Toast also introduced a new tradition to the annual ceremony: signing the UVA Law Matriculation Book. A handbound book constructed with Virginia-native materials by a local artisan, Yolanda Merrill, the Matriculation Book will preserve the signatures of each member of the Class of 2026 and all succeeding classes to memorialize their time spent on grounds and their membership in the Law School community. Although the ritualistic collective signing of the Matriculation Book chafed against my general disdain which I hope is now quite apparent, I was actually intrigued by the sentimental value of the book. All of our time at the Law School can be reduced to mere digital records. The Matriculation Book provides an analog counterpart through which to make a tangible and indelible mark upon this community.
Despite these silver linings, though, I still do not buy into the utility of hosting an event and inviting law students to spend even more time at the Law School to celebrate an unnecessary ceremony. It seems to me to be no more than the half-birthday of the law school experience.[3]
But halfway points, much like new years, nonetheless prompt reflection, regardless of whether we celebrate them with ceremony.[4] It is a time to take stock of the successes and failures of the first three semesters, and to recalibrate while there is still time to adjust. There is still much more work to do: completing three more semesters of classes, impressing during summer associate or internship placements, completing required courses and the major writing requirement, applying for clerkships, not to mention passing the bar to cap that all off. But there is also plenty more joy to look forward to, as our remaining time in Charlottesville becomes ever more precious as it becomes ever more fleeting. There are restaurants and wineries yet to be explored; there are hiking trails yet to be traversed; in short, there are moments yet to be experienced and memories yet to be forged.
For most, law school may be the last opportunity to enjoy such luxuries as winter and spring break or flexible weekly schedules with only a class or two per day. We may never again have such an opportunity to learn from renowned experts and scholars in such a casual and enriching environment. It is not time for us 2Ls to despair—leave that to the 3Ls—but it is also not time for us to lose focus on the goals still outstanding. Just as Dean Kendrick alluded, there is plenty more trail left to hike. So let’s make the most of it.
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cmz4bx@virginia.edu
[1] And in writing this editorial, I ironically resumed the Law Weekly’s own tradition of covering this event in our pages, dutifully conforming to the naming convention established by my predecessors. See, e.g., Stanley Birch ’22 & Phil Tonseth ’22, Midway Toast: It’s Like Drinking Together, Alone, https://www.lawweekly.org/front-page/2021/2/3/midway-toast-its-like-drinking-together-alone; Anna Bninski ’23 & Mason Pazhwak ’23, The Midway Toast: Two Writers Give Hot Takes, https://www.lawweekly.org/col/2022/4/20/the-midway-toast-two-writers-give-hot-takes; Darius Adel ’24 & Nikolai Morse ’24, The Midway Toast: Two 2Ls Get Sentimental Over Champagne, https://www.lawweekly.org/col/2023/2/8/the-midway-toast-two-2ls-get-sentimental-over-champagne. Class of 2025 wya?
[2] Also because I could not think of another story to write for this week’s paper.
[3] If you are one of those people who love half-birthdays, all the more power to you. Just celebrate where celebrations ought to happen: at the bar.
[4] Yes, I am also suggesting that watching the ball drop on New Year’s Eve is a waste of my time.
