It’s Tuesday of Thanksgiving week. No problem finding a parking spot. No Monon Bell ringing in the background. No lines of young men headed off to class. They are, at least most of them, all home catching up on sleep and marveling at how good their Mom’s cooking is.
We’re here. Not a lot of downtime as we catch up on the fall to-do list and try to get ahead before the guys return for the last few weeks of the semester.
We look forward to the time when they leave then we look forward to the time when they return. It’s a strange dynamic.
The explanation is pretty simple, this poor dumb fighter pilot thinks.
On a quiet day at Wabash when classes are in session, you can literally hear lives changing. Oh, they may not notice it…but we do. Yesterday’s lab discovery is today’s knowledge. Yesterday’s solid Rhetoric presentation is today’s new standard. Yesterday’s “A” paper is today’s least acceptable answer.
That keeps the rest of us pushing ourselves as well. And the ever present 18-22 year old crowd somehow makes this old guy feel sorta young.
But then reality sets in and we struggle to keep up with them…and they leave…and we take a deep breath…relax a little…and of course end up saying “shouldn’t the guys be back by now?”
And then they’re back…we take a deep breath…and we strap on our running shoes and it starts all over. We’re happy and thankful for “this good place” that changes young mens’ lives.