The materials were in our mailbox when we returned home from our last official family spring-break vacation. Our oldest child will be entering college this fall, and none of his final college
choices have the same spring break as his three younger sisters. Trust me, I have already checked
this out. The materials read in big bold letters "Welcome Home to Notre Dame."
Welcome Home to Notre Dame. Now, at age 44, it had been 22 years since I had been
"home." I graduated from Notre Dame twice, once in 1983 and again a year later, an MBA, in
1984. I loved it there. Loved it. It really was a home away from home for me. A place where I fit
in and I belonged. But since 1984 I had never come "home." I am not sure why. Maybe it had
something to do with a busy career, marriage, giving birth to four kids and living 3,000 miles
away from my parents and siblings. Most of the time our travel involved visits with the kids to
see my family. Or maybe it was the fact that my husband, who I met as a grad student at Notre
Dame at one of the three jobs he held while a full-time student, did not share the same fond
memories of time spent under the Golden Dome. Coming back was never on the top of his must-do list.
But here we were - with the Welcome Home papers spread out on our kitchen table. It
was April 4th. Our oldest son had been accepted to our alma mater. The same alma mater that we
had never visited, never took our beloved firstborn to see and experience. By May 1st he had to
decide where he belonged, where he found the best fit to spend the next four years of his life.
Arguably, four of the most memorable, maturing and life-changing years a person experiences.
Of the 11 colleges our son applied to, he'd been accepted to seven. He was never one of
those kids who yearned to go to a specific place. He was open. Over the course of the next few
days several were ruled out - too far, too urban, too small, not prestigious enough. Seven then
was narrowed to three, and we decided to visit them all in whirlwind time to give him the best
possible take to base his decision. One college paid for his trip, the other was a quick two-hour
flight from our home in Portland, Oregon, and the third, Notre Dame, was actually made possible
through frequent-flyer miles. As crazy as this sounds, we read in the Wall Street Journal that
thousands of parents and college-bound children were engaged in the same cross-country trek
this April. We joined them.
Ross and I arrived on campus on a Friday afternoon. A huge line of cars was entering
campus, so we asked what was going on. The reply was that they were releasing the "new shirt."
Okay. Notre Dame does love its football, and we gathered that the new shirt was cause for
celebration. Students and fans were out in full force to purchase the 2006 football T-shirt. After
22 years, it was obvious to me that Notre Dame is still corny, lovably and traditionally so, but
corny nonetheless. Caught up in the new shirt frenzy, we bought five.
I'd heard that there were so many new buildings that I wouldn't recognize the place.
With so many new academic buildings and dormitories, it truly it is hard to situate yourself. But
once you are at the Rock headed toward the Golden Dome, all seems right. The Huddle is no
longer a place that merely offers coffee, sandwiches and ice cream cones, but The Grotto, Sacred
Heart, the Library and the old dining halls seem relatively unchanged. The new buildings fit
right in and are fabulous additions to what has always been a beautiful campus. After going to
the campus Starbucks, I sat on a bench outside of LaFortune. On the bench was this inscription:
JOHN HUETHER - CHARLES HUETHER
Their dream and sacrifice in 1917 introduced our family to Notre
Dame's life transforming imprint. Those they enrolled and the
generations who followed celebrate their memory and vision.
I'm not going to lie. Sitting there in the spring sunshine with my latte and the church
bells ringing, I cried. I have no idea who the Huethers were, but I do know that my experience at
Notre Dame was transforming. I arrived an insecure girl, and four years later left as a confident
young woman. My experience at Notre Dame is what I hope for all college-bound young people.
Of course I got my degrees and acquired the knowledge that came from my coursework. But,
more important, it was here that I developed independence, the ability to question my thoughts
and the thoughts of others. It was at Notre Dame that I developed lifelong friendships, and it is
where I met my husband.
While I rest at the Morris Inn, my son is at a party somewhere on campus. Later tonight
he'll sleep in a sleeping bag on a high school friend's floor in Dillon. His college experience is
just about to unfold. He has just a week to decide where he sees himself spending the next four
years. Part of me really and truly hopes he's "at home" here at Notre Dame. But I know my
college days are long over and his are just beginning. Wherever he chooses, I know it will be
right for him, just as Notre Dame was right for me. Whoever said you can't come home again
didn't go to Notre Dame.
Laurie Cuffe Kelley may be contacted via e-mail at kelleypdx@aol.com
(July 2006)
