A few months ago, I had the pleasure of returning to my Alma Matre. My daughter had a regional dive meet in Holland, MI. I graduated from Hope in 2005. I couldn’t believe it’s 20 years. It’s true…seconds pass slowly, and years go flying by. I’m a much different person than I was back then. Frankly, I was quite immature on graduation day. Completely oblivious to the struggles of life. I’m fortunate to have faced these challenges with a college degree, a favorable skin tone, and straight teeth. I can hardly imagine how the impoverished deal day in and day out.
On our first morning I had some free time before competition started. It was early. Around 7am. The sun was just breaking over the horizon. Our hotel was downtown, on 8th street. I started off towards window on the waterfront. Across the bay I could see Dutch Village and Windmill Island. There was plenty variety of water birds nesting in the bay. Once through the short boardwalk I turned south towards downtown. Centennial Park was full of a vast assortment of tulips in full bloom.
As I entered campus, the song turned. In an eerily way. “Crazy Game of Poker” came blazing into my headphones, as if Spotify knew I was 40 years old and just stepped onto a college campus. The next 12 minutes were a walk down memory lane.
The first think I noticed was that the Del Phi house, in the center of campus, was gone. A two-story blue house with white trim windows and shudders. Greek Del Phi letters on the front. A representation of the higher class of the student body. Something beyond us commoners on the social hierarchy. Replaced by a dormitory designed by an architect from Soviet Russia. A true shame.
I headed east towards our off-campus house on Lincoln Ave. I ran past 307. The house where our annual quarters tournament was held. Where parties lasted deep into the night. Where cares went to die. Prior to one tournament an ambitious student took the liberty of writing a scouting report for this annual display of collegiate athleticism. The report lived in infamy for many post-grad years. I’m not sure if it’s still around. After graduation, when we would get together, someone would dust it off and we’d all get a good laugh.
The off-campus house I lived in senior year has been torn down. Not a big surprise. It was adjacent to the campus property line. Next door was an all-girl cottage. Back then, we wouldn’t have been considered appropriate neighbors. Vapor in the fabric of time. There’s a small parking lot there now.
I turned down 14th street and headed towards the athletic fields, past the football stadium, to the Pull pits. “The Pull” was the first truly hard thing I ever did. It’s essentially a scaled-up tug of war. Twenty men on each side pull a large rope stretched across the Macatawa River, for 3 hours. The winner is whichever team pulls the most rope. As a reward, the winning team gets to jump in the river. Which is cold, black, and full of mud. Of course, there’s bragging rights.
The event is incredibly brutal. You lay in a mud pit, on top of a thick rope, with a pad taped to your flank. You listen for pull and hold commands from a moraler, coordinating your effort with 20 other men. No trophy at the end. No prize money. Just a short celebration with your teammates. The real reward is finishing something that is incredibly difficult and doing it for someone other than yourself.
For practice, the coaches would pull a thin rope called “the razor.” We would spend hours on it. It would burn your hands, calves, and flank to a bloody pulp. It was mental. I would sign up again in heartbeat. I saw the tree the razor used to be tied to. A simple concept pushing us towards manhood.
I headed north towards the soccer fields. At Hope, the soccer games were the Saturday afternoon event. At least when I was there. Our soccer team was dominant. There was a small European vibe to the games. The soccer house would host a halftime party at each home game. The student section would head there to try to finish a keg before the second half started. It never happened, most of us didn’t make it back until the game was almost over. Fall Saturdays in college campuses are a young man’s paradise.
I made my way back towards campus. The elementary school next to campus has been replaced by another campus building. In the courtyard of that school is where we held “fight club” freshman year. I fought my best friend one night. A 6’8 behemoth dutchman that trounced me. The mayhem that ensued that night is unforgettable. One of the finest nights of my life and the forming of an everlasting bond.
I stopped my run for a few moments in front of Durfee Hall. An all-boys dormitory. My home for freshmen and sophomore year. For all the talk about girls in college, it’s best not to live with them. It’s better to chase them. Mario Kart, bathroom slip and slides, George Foreman grilled cheeses, smoking cigars on the front porch, and all kinds of shenanigans. Two of my finest coming of age years.
After a few moments, I headed back towards the hotel.
When I was at Hope, I did go to class. I can’t remember what I learned. Most of my education happened outside the classroom. You may be thinking, most of my college experience involved alcohol, which is shamefully true, but it was more of a conduit to get us together and do stupid stuff. And there were no drugs. Absolutely none. Thank goodness. I was young, immature, and unadjusted (adjustment, I’ve learned, takes a long time). Drugs are a wildcard I didn’t need. I went to a party at WMU once. A few sketchy individuals arrived and started spreading cocaine all over a glass coffee table. I was smart enough to know it was time to leave.
Yes, I should’ve studied more. I should’ve paid more attention in class. I should’ve made it to every class. If my parents would have been following me around on GPS, I’m sure I would’ve been dragged back to Jackson, which would’ve been a huge mistake. I turned out ok.
When I see protests on college campuses it just makes me sad. What do you know as a college student? Next to nothing. But that nothing is probably more than your professors, whom spent the last decade studying the world instead of living in it. Ask any medical student, studying something, and doing something, are two completely different things. You can read a book but haven’t lived the hardship in it, or endured the struggle to success, or lived under a regime other than the one you grew up. You're just getting started in life.
Have an open mind. Don’t waste your time with ideology. It's a sure fire way to waste your intelligence. Have some experiences. Learn from your friends. Try to fit in wherever you go. Listen to your professors, but don't become infatuated with them. Many of them are deeply influenced by the politics of higher education, and have their identities wrapped up protecting their tenure. At one time intelligent minds that have turned to mush. Don’t get wrapped up in one person’s charisma. You’ll be happier. College will be a time to look back on with fondness.
Mark Twain is quoted as saying many things. Most of these things he didn’t say. One of them is “Youth is wasted on the young.” Which is true, but it doesn’t have to be.
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