'Ray Bucknell

The wisest parenting advice I have ever heard or read, the source of which I have forgotten, is that one's goal as a parent is not to raise children, but to raise adults.  "Success" as a parent is achieved when your child leaves the nest and is able to confidently fly away under the power of their own wings, rather than plunging dramatically to earth or timidly returning to the nest for more nurturing.

My wife and I have raised both our kids with the goal that they would be prepared to confidently go away to college and thrive there when the time came.  The focus of our energy and our resources for the past 21 years has been on this moment.  We knew it was coming.  Yet when we gave our son one last good-bye hug in the shadow of Harris Hall at Bucknell University, the moment still hit us like a sledge hammer.

You might think that having been through this with our daughter three Augusts ago it would be easier.  You would be wrong.

Our boy has gone away to college.

 We are incredibly proud of him.  Bucknell is a wonderful university.  It has been called a "Hidden Ivy" by some, and it offers him a world-class education and a superb collegiate experience.  His ability to gain admission is a testament to the years of hard work he invested in high school.  Even Uncle Sam agrees, as they awarded Luke an Army R.O.T.C. scholarship which will pay for most of his education and enable him to chase his dream of serving America as an officer in the U.S. Army.  That's a win-win.

Bucknell is not terribly sentimental about the move-in process.  The dorm is open at 8:00 a.m., and you have until about 1:30 p.m. to get done what you need to get done before the students and parents are called away to separate information sessions, and the parents are politely informed that they are expected to hit the road by 5:00 p.m.  In the limited time available you need to arrange the furniture (i.e., loft the beds) so that three 18 year-old boys can live, sleep, study, watch football, and play video games in a space that was originally designed to house two students.  Three duffel bags of clothes need to be hung neatly on hangars, organized by function and color (it's a Mom thing).  A lifetime supply of pens, pencils, highlighters, spiral notebooks, toothpaste, shampoo, deodorant, Advil, Claritin, and laundry soap need to be organized in the desk drawers and closet.  Multiple runs to WalMart and Bed, Bath & Beyond need to be made for items that that wouldn't fit into the duffel bags (futon sofa, Golfish crackers, cases of water bottles, window screens, desk lamps, oscillating fans, extension cords).  A computer has to be picked up at the I.T. Help Desk.  A visit needs to be paid to the Catholic Campus Ministry to meet Father Fred.  A local bank account has to be opened.

It all goes by in a blur.  But through the blur you meet the roommates from New Jersey and Massachusetts and they are clearly really good kids with really good families.  You see your son walking confidently and comfortably around campus, saying hello to the guys and the very cute girls he has met and knows by name already.  You see the excitement in his face when he gets his class schedule and pronounces that it is "awesome," despite the 8:00 a.m. start most days.

And then, suddenly, it's 4:30.  The desk drawers are organized, the duffel bags are empty.  The bed is made.  The roommates are assembling the new WalMart futon sofa.  And its time to say good-bye to your son.  Not for good.  Not forever.  He'll be home at Thanksgiving, and for Christmas.  But he won't ever be back home again for long.  The Army will have plans for big chunks of his summers.  And once he graduates and pins those gold bars on his shoulders, he'll be sent wherever our nation needs him.  It isn't good-bye forever.  It just feels that way.

He walks you out to the car, so you don't have to do this in front of the roommates.  Everyone is choked up, and the first tears come.  For everyone.  He hugs his mom.  And he looks you straight in the eye.  Has he gotten taller?  You wish him luck, tell him how proud you are of him.  You hug him and tell him you love him.  He says I love you too, and that he misses you (already).  And then he's gone, back into Harris Hall, without you.

You don't know what else to do.  You didn't get any lunch, so before long you're staring through your tears at the menu at the Applebees in Selinsgrove, Pennsylvania, trying not to make a fool of yourself.

The emotions of the past several days are a powerful mix.  My wife and I are extremely proud of Luke, and we are so incredibly happy that he is where he should be - at a great University, surrounded by great kids, having the time of his life and getting a great education.  We wouldn't have it any other way.

But we sure do miss him.  I find myself regretting the things we didn't do together before he was all grown up.  I should have taken him camping a few more times.  Gone for bike rides with him on those nights when he asked but I said I was too tired.  Played more games of catch.  Figured out a way to take him to a San Diego Chargers game or a Zac Brown Band concert.  But you only get so many days to try to fit it all in, and I guess we must have somehow done enough.  Despite the inevitable regrets, Luke's an intelligent young man, with a great work ethic and a terrific sense of humor.  He has a strong sense of honor and integrity.  He's a patriot and a gentleman.  He'll make a fine Army officer and be a wonderful husband and father when his time comes.

Karen and I got home late last night.  The house is 2600 square feet of suburban silence.  Luke's bed is unmade.  He never was one for making beds, and we left home for Pennsylvania at 4:00 in the morning.  A green '98 Ford Explorer is parked out front, with a Bucknell decal in the rear window, but no one to drive it.  I saw two mushrooms in the back yard this morning, but on second look they were two lacrosse balls waiting for a game of catch.  We have been looking forward to this day for a long time, but that doesn't mean we were really ready for it.  We look forward to our future as just a couple again, but it's also going to take some getting used to.

In the mean time, we now have another favorite college sports team to root for in addition to the Fighting Irish.  Go Bison!

’Ray Bucknell
’Ray Bucknell, ’Ray Bucknell,
’Ray for the Orange and the Blue,
’Ray, ’Ray, ’Ray, ’Ray,
’Ray for the Orange and the Blue       

Happy Hour

My previous post on the personnel changes in the Office of Residence Life at Notre Dame generated a few comments. Some reminded me that the folks at "Res Life" are good Notre Dame people who are just trying to do their jobs enforcing the rules. That's fair enough, but while I am not questioning the good intentions of the recently departed, I do reserve the right to question the manner in which they exercised their discretion and their authority.

Other comments were more in the nature of dancing in the streets. The recently retired Notre Dame Leprechaun (no, really) asked if students got "res-lifed" in my day? In "my day"? What the heck is that supposed to mean junior? I'm not THAT old. Am I? Get off my lawn you dang kids. By the way, you should check out the Leprechaun's new blog, Irish Creed, when you get a chance. Great perspectives from a couple of newly minted ND graduates and one current senior.

But seriously. Yes, students did get "res-lifed" back in my day. But you had to try just a little bit harder than today's students to get in serious trouble back in the early eighties. The story below should help contemporary readers understand where I and my peers are coming from when we bemoan the draconian approach the Administration has recently taken toward discipline generally, and alcohol in particular. The story is taken pretty much verbatim from a post I wrote several years ago over at Verminnet.com, a web page for Carroll Hall alumni. I'll admit that our experiences in Carroll Hall were not necessarily in the middle of the mainstream back then, but we weren't that far out of the norm either.

The story is called "Happy Hour":

I arrived at Notre Dame and Carroll Hall in August of 1982, having come all the way from California, alone. The bus from O'Hare dropped me and my trunk at the main circle, and I needed some help to find out where Carroll Hall was. I had seen it on the campus map the University sent me, and it seemed like it was sort of far from the rest of the buildings on campus. I didn't know the half of it. I was literally living a dream being able to attend Notre Dame, but I was a little bummed with the dorm I got.

No worries. I carried/dragged my trunk from the main circle all the way to Carroll, and the RA's greeted me and showed me to my room. It was a big cube of a room on the first floor, right across from the rector's office. My roommates were three New Yorkers (geeeeeez). John "Basil" Hayes and Jock Brody Mutschler were both from the Rochester area, and Scott Kiley was from Long Island. Basil, Jock, and myself were Navy, Army, and Air Force ROTC respectively. Scott was not the military type. Neither was Jock for that matter, but that's another story.

The most striking feature of our room was the plush wall-to-wall whorehouse-red carpet that we had inherited from the previous occupants. Those previous residents had dubbed the room "The Love Palace" and the name stuck, although I'm not sure we really deserved the tag. With four of us living there, and the rest of the Vermin wandering through because of our central location, it wasn't really a quiet place for getting to know that special someone. It might have been called the Insomnia Palace. I swear we never got a wink of sleep before 3:00 a.m. that whole year.

At any rate, I settled in with my new roomies. Before long, a couple of big bruisers came through the door and started demanding money from each of us. Turns out these were some seniors in the dorm, and they were collecting cash for the Happy Hour set for that Friday. I don't recall exactly, but they wanted $5 or $10 from each of us. At the time, that was a lot of money for me. My parents had me on a $50 per month allowance, and I hadn't been picked up on my ROTC scholarship yet. Plus, I wasn't much of a drinker, and I wasn't sure I wanted to go to some party. How naive I was. But these guys weren't taking "no" for an answer. After the shake down was over, some other dorm vets clued us in on what the Happy Hour was all about.

Here's the premise: On weeks of home football games, all during the week in classes, etc... you invited every desirable (or near-desirable, or at least breathing) girl you met to come on out to Carroll on Friday afternoon for our Happy Hour. Good music, free booze (and lots of it). A good time to be had by all. Chicks come, chicks drink, chicks get happy, maybe guys get lucky. The Carroll Happy Hour had a good reputation in some of the girls' dorms, and amazingly enough come Friday afternoon, the dorm was rocking! When you walked back up the drive to Carroll after Friday classes, the music was blasting across the lake. Inside (and often out on the front lawn as well) the kegs had been tapped and the beer was flowing. Inside, there were at least two bars set up. One was usually serving blender drinks (Sea Breezes made with ice, vodka, 7-up, and some sort of juice concentrate), the other was something else (I can't remember because I was usually working the Sea Breeze bar, and performed quality control as well.). These parties started at maybe 3:30 or 4:00 in the afternoon. They would die down a bit as dinner hour came, and then as people left for the pep rally. But they usually went on at least at a low level until about 2:00 a.m. on Saturday morning (I think Parietals kicked in at 2:00 a.m. on the weekends, so the ladies had to leave at that time). Although the first floor was the epicenter of the action, the Happy Hour really encompassed the entire dorm. Some partied in big groups downstairs, other partied in more intimate groups on floors two through four.

I remember vividly one scene from my first Happy Hour. I was standing in the party room on the first floor, just down the hall from my room, talking to one of the RA's. He was drunk off his ass, leaning against the wall to hold himself up. He was looking a little ragged, and was quite a bit overweight. And he was passing on a little bit of wisdom. "I used to be like you. In shape, great high school athlete. But before long, you'll look like this too." He was commenting on the crop of young, naive, fresh-faced, super-fit freshman that had just joined the Hall. We thought the guy was pathetic and crazy and bitter. Little did we know.

The Happy Hour was the focus of social life in Carroll Hall, and it gave us our identity. It wasn't always pretty. Lots of guys (especially the freshman) got way too drunk and out of control or sick. Hijinks were common (water drops? Pizza heists? Often post-Happy Hour entertainment). Nicknames were earned. The best example of this from my group of friends was Steve (Last name withheld to protect the sloppy drunk), who was from Texas. One Friday afternoon, during a particularly good Happy Hour, a group of us decided that we wanted to go to the pep rally, and Father Steve was going to take us over to Stepan Center in his van. At any rate, sometime between leaving the dorm for the rally, and returning afterwards, Steve got very sick and blew chunks everywhere. Chunks. The name absolutely stuck. While people later meeting him might assume that "Chunks" got his name from being kind of chunky (he was a big guy), we all knew how he really got the name. Do you remember the show Cheers? When Norm walks in? "NORM!" everyone shouts. Everywhere Steve went for four years, his fellow Vermin would greet him with a chorus of "CHUNKS!"

Many of the stories posted on VerminNet have some connection to the Happy Hour. Of course, nowadays the University would consider our behavior reprehensible. Well, they did then too, but we were pretty much out-of-sight, out-of-mind, and Father Steve was very lenient with us.

I believe it was in my Junior year (1984-85) (Father Steve's last year as rector) that the University killed the Happy Hour. New University policy that year essentially prohibited any alcohol consumption by students under 21 (although they would tolerate drinking in your room behind closed doors if you didn't draw attention to yourself). Alcohol consumption at dorm parties was limited to 21 and older, and was relatively strictly enforced.

It was the end of an era. We held a funeral for the Happy Hour. Father Steve let us borrow some vestments, candles, etc.. from the chapel. We had a last party, and then we laid the Happy Hour to rest. We had a funeral procession, some words were said. And a couple bottles of booze along with some mementos were buried in a hole out behind the dorm. We even had a headstone with "R.I.P." on it. I don't know if the headstone or the grave is still there. I doubt it. But I know there are people out there in cyberspace with pictures of the event, and I think I've got a commemorative button in my trunk somewhere (the same trunk after all these years).

The Pope seems to have gotten over the whole Obama controversy

Despite all the uproar over President Obama being invited to give the Commencement Address at Notre Dame last Spring (he's pro-abortion!), it seems that Pope Benedict nonetheless respects the important role the University plays within the Church. From the South Bend Tribune:

Notre Dame associate professor receives papal appointment

Tribune Staff Report

SOUTH BEND — John C. Cavadini, an associate professor and chair of the theology department at the University of Notre Dame, has been appointed to the International Theological Commission by Pope Benedict XVI.

The International Theological Commission consists of some 30 theologians from around the world. An advising body to the Vatican’s Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith, its members are personally appointed by the pope.

Bishop John M. D’Arcy of the Diocese of Fort Wayne-South Bend said that Cavadini’s appointment "brings honor to our diocese and to Notre Dame, especially to its theology department."

A member of the faculty since 1990, Cavadini also is director of the university’s Institute for Church Life.

Congratulations to Professor Cavadini!

Keeping Up With Tom Thornton (And Lending Him a Hand)

In May of 2007 I wrote about a Notre Dame student-athlete who had popped up in the news and who was a perfect example of why, even after a frustrating loss to Michigan on the football field, I am so proud to be a Domer. To briefly re-cap:

Who the heck is Tom Thornton? Tom Thornton is (was) a student-athlete at the University of Notre Dame. Student. Athlete. Not an athlete masquerading as a student in order to barely maintain his eligibility. But a true student, working hard in the classroom (and outside the classroom), to get a world-class education as well as a degree. And a pretty good athlete on the side, elected as a co-captain of the baseball team by his teammates in his senior year and compiling a 7-3 record in 15 pitching starts his final season last Spring. Tom was drafted by the Detroit Tigers last June in the 21st round, and right now is working hard in the Can-Am league trying to make it to the Big Leagues.

So what has Tom Thornton been up to lately? Working on his slider, perhaps? Well, no. Tom just returned from Nairobi where he has been working on a research grant trying to learn more about the earliest use of fire by man, over a million years ago. Putting his anthropology degree to work.

Last week I received an e-mail from Tom, who had learned of my blog post from a friend of his some time ago. He is still pursuing his two passions, baseball and anthropology, and he is asking for a little help. Here's what he is up to, in his own words:

Let me first give you a brief summary of where I am and what I've been working on.

After continuing my senior thesis at the National Museum of Kenya in Nairobi in the fall of 2006 I have continued to play baseball professionally every spring and summer since. I grew up south of Boston, MA and have spent much of the winter training and working in Chicago. I also had such a phenomenal learning and cultural experience in East Africa that I wanted to find a way to continue doing research each fall to learn more in the field and prepare for an eventual Ph.D. program after baseball.

In the fall of 2007 I worked on a project looking at Neanderthal tool technology at the Weizmann Institute of Science in Rehovot, Israel. This past fall my interests shifted and I worked with a medical anthropologist in Scotland at the University of Edinburgh looking at the correlation between Buddhist philosophy and sports psychology in regard to the way the athlete creates meaning in the competitive environment.

After working for the past eight months I finally found a professor at Stellenbosch University, near Cape Town, South Africa only about three weeks ago to do a semester long project in the anthropology of religion. First and foremost, I'm thrilled to get the opportunity in the area that I will be pursuing for my Ph.D. however, because it took so long to find the professor, it has put me in a serious time crunch to fund the necessary 8000 dollars to do a nearly three month project project. I'm looking to lock down significant funds within a week so that I can get arrangements set up in South Africa and commit to the offer.

I've been able to get a thousand dollars from a foundation in Evansville, IN which is a fantastic start. Here is the other side and just as important. I would LOVE the opportunity to give something back. To work with an alumni club, give a talk, seminar, work with students or student-athletes would be a great opportunity. I've done a lot of work with my own public school system in Middleboro, MA about everything from goal-setting to a talk on Biblical history in relation to the Israel/Palestine conflict after spending over two months in the Middle East.

So my question is, would you be willing to work with me in arranging some way to give back in return for partial funding? I read on your blog that you are trying to raise a family with young kids so I don't know what options you might have. However, either way would you know of any individual or organization that I might ask or might be willing to work with me on this project? Right now, because of the time crunch, I'm trying to see the whole board (as we say in chess) and ask, ask, ask for ideas and support.

I believe in this project and I know I can offer something very worthy in return. I am extremely passionate about education and raising the level of dialogue in the community. I would really enjoy the opportunity to work with you or someone you know and find a creative solution. I'm going to attach my research and funding proposal if you would like a more specific idea of what exactly I am trying to do. I had tailored it toward several alumni clubs that I am trying to work through as well as many fronts at ND but it will give you a clearer picture of what my project is about.

I really appreciate any ideas or support you might be able to lend. Feel free to call my cell anytime. [cell phone number deleted] I'm in Fargo, ND right now competing for a Northern League championship while playing for the Gary, IN Southshore Railcats. So if I don't pick up I'm probably at the stadium but I'll call you right back asap. Regardless, and in all seriousness, call me sometime anyway, as I pass through CA a fair amount and I might be [there] after the new year before the baseball season begins. If I get south it would be nice to briefly meet up with a fellow alumni.

Thanks a lot for your help and have a terrific day,

Best wishes and regards,

Tom

I wrote Tom back with some ideas, and I offered to share his story here at OC Domer in the hopes that someone out there might be willing and able to help him out. If you can offer Tom some help toward reaching his goals, or if you have some ideas on where else he might turn for assistance and support, please e-mail him directly at tthornton@alumni.nd.edu.

Go Irish!

The Education President

Apparently when Barack Obama says he wants to be the "education president" he doesn't mean that he actually wants to provide a quality education to children. What he means is that his administration is a wholly-owned subsidiary of the National Education Association (i.e., the teachers' unions).

Juan Williams has an excellent (and infuriating) column on how the Obama administration is dismantling a very popular and clearly successful school voucher program in the District of Columbia. This is a program that helps get poor kids out of failing D.C. schools and into private schools where they have a much better chance at a real education, all without taking a dime out of the D.C. public schools' budgets. Win-win, right? Wrong.

The teachers' unions and the N.E.A. don't like private schools, and they don't like voucher programs, because they are a threat to the growth of their membership rolls and to their members' pay raises. And because the N.E.A. doesn't like these programs, the Democrats and Obama don't like them either - poor black kids in D.C. be damned.

What makes this even more annoying in the current political climate is that Obama's decision isn't about money. I mean, it isn't about money in the usual sense of "we don't have the money to pay for this." Congress just passed a gazillion dollar stimulus package intended to fund things a lot less important than the education of poor kids. But no vouchers for you! However, this decision is about money in the modern political sense. The N.E.A. and their fellow union travelers give a lot of money every election cycle to elect and keep in power Democrat politicians who agree with their views of education policy. Obama and congressional Democrats are unwilling to risk losing any of that campaign money, and the direct result is more poor kids in D.C. needlessly trapped in bad schools.

Remember that the next time you hear Obama or any other Democrat preaching from their soap box about those greedy, selfish, mean, evil, racist Republicans. You know, those same Republicans who believe poor black kids in D.C. deserve a chance at the same quality education as the rich kids living in the White House.

Stay classy Obama.