Reflection

I write this on the journey back from the USC-Notre Dame Coliseum Clash, where I learned what my school means when it says it stresses “family.” The epiphany unraveled as I sat with Notre Dame fans encompassing the area, yelling chants of the Irish even as the rain fell, and even as the team was down 16-13. I cared for the team, for those students I knew in the stands, and strangely for the people cheering with me before worrying about an almost certain sickness from the wet chill. The scene reminded me of a home game, with the student section jauntily proclaiming a coming victory.
At USC, opposing fans fist-bumped me, inappropriately touched me, and even accused me of sweating profusely even though it was forty-degrees, raining, and I lacked anything warmer than the pride of a green Notre Dame t-shirt. The fist-bump was completely unexpected, and the joy it brought me makes me want to return the favor to other rivals at home games. But the others, from my limited experience, are hard to imagine a Notre Dame alumnus or student of performing. First, they—or should I say “we”—seem to know how much physical contact is too much. Yes, we have fun exclaiming that the other team “sucks,” but grabbing someone and pushing them against the wall in a drunken stupor falls below us, especially the grabbing of someone. Next, I believe a Notre Dame graduate or student can tell the difference between sweat and rain.
Nonetheless, these intercollegiate fan-interactions supplied me with the necessary contrast to Notre Dame’s own spirit. The spirit of the stadium did not impress me as much as the physical size of the coliseum, the incredible hats of the band, or fact that someone in full Trojan warrior’s garb rode a pure white horse to cheer up the crowd. Theoretically, USC, with its recent victorious history, should have had more support than the lackluster Irish just as the Los Angeles Lakers draw greater crowds than the ailing Clippers, but I believe that despite the size of the crowd, the roars of The House that Rockne Built defeat those of the Trojans.
I sat with my Dad, high in the stands behind an end zone with hundreds of alumni and students. The chants of “Let’s go Irish!” and “We are N.D.” may have been louder than when sitting in the student section. The Notre Dame family stood against the cheers of the home crowd with our own attack. We fought like Spartans. I hurt my freezing hands high-fiving the elderly couples, upperclassmen, recent graduates, and the like all in the name of family. I felt initiated into a tribe of people who react with such warmth to the blue and gold, that it accepts any person willing to join, willing to scream in name of Notre Dame. Maybe soon, I will advance to the next level and hug a random kinsman after a thrilling victory, as my father did.
Football expands into the student psyche like a mole that suddenly appears on a body. Even though the body’s owner may not want it to be with him, it adds to part of his character. I describe myself. I never associated myself with football, and I still do not, but now I do associate myself with the cheers and thrills of the Irish jig and the mighty Leprechaun.
The same enthusiasm for the university does not translate as well for the classroom experience, though. The sheer size of chemistry, calculus, philosophy, and engineering lectures keeps me from properly paying attention and properly learning. I have developed a newfound appreciation for my high schools largest classes of fifteen, and I hope that Notre Dame can live up to my expectation of smaller classes as the curriculum becomes more specified.
The smaller classes have always kept me in attendance. I do not remember skipping any course for any inane reason in high school because the teacher always knew my name and always respected my ideas, work, and responses. But with a class of 150, I do not feel guilty for sleeping through my 8:30 am class, I do not care if Professor Lappin knows my name, I do not need even someone as distinguished as Professor Robert Audi to appreciate my work. I feel alone in my studies despite so many neighbors sitting next to me.
I have not used the resources available as I should have, and the reason seems to be that those same resources were always available without an appointment and without even traveling outside. I have not used the writing center, I have not gone into office hours, and I have not talked one-on-one with a professor. The closest I have come is emailing my calculus teacher’s assistant about a few difficult problems.
Thankfully, I know multiple people in my dorm who are willing to help with any of my subjects, so the absolute necessity of finding professors in person is avoided. Still, the presence of a mentor to help guide my coursework and my college experience—along with the perks of good recommendations—needs to be something I actively work for.
Upon arriving at Notre Dame, I expected a difficult transition in forming a new set of friends. I have always waited for people to talk to me, instead of speaking first, and I fearfully entered my dorm with a shy look, wondering if someone would mention something about the weather. They did not, but thanks to a commonality in introversion with my roommate, I made my first friend, and by some other means I have found people whom I believe will join me through life past college.
I hope that these friendships do last, and that I have people who know me and can direct me toward my passions. I hope that these people, who I ordered 2:00 am pizzas with, who I handed out candy on Halloween with, and who I half-nakedly ran and swam and was baptized with, will remain as I see them now: family.