Ordinary things make Notre Dame extraordinary
Laura Rompf
Beyond the Bubble
I wanted something extraordinary to happen this weekend.
Heading back to my first Notre Dame football game as an alumna, I thought for sure I would come back with some amazing story to write about.
Either I'd see Regis in the dining hall, and he'd invite me to New York. Or better yet, I would sit next to Father Hesburgh at the Basilica, and he'd offer me a job at Notre Dame.
But unfortunately, nothing extraordinary happened.
It was normal to be picked up from the airport by my best friend and reminisce about our lives in Badin Hall — the SYRs and the formals. Our "comfort" boy, the parties in the basement of 222 St. Louis St. and the numerous nights spent at The Observer.
It was normal to listen to Ludacris, laugh and even cry because we miss the everyday events so much.
It was normal to get up early Saturday morning and head to the soccer fields to tailgate. It was normal to see the hundreds of Irish fans wearing their green shirts, eating burgers and drinking Strawberry Hill Boones Farm.
It was normal to be in the house that Rockne built again. It was normal to sing the fight song, yell the "We are ND." cheer, and form a "W" with my hands alongside the 80,000 Irish fans during the "1812 Overture."
It was normal to meet up with all the girls at the end of the game and listen to the band one more time. It was normal to sing the Alma Mater, arm in arm, swaying back and forth. It was normal to see Touchdown Jesus in the distance and the entire student section as one large entity.
It was normal to meet up with my parents and siblings after the game and go to dinner. It was normal to all be sunburned, and tired and hungry. It was normal to talk about the "great plays" of the game and laugh about past memories.
In fact, it was even normal to hear about my younger brother's life at Notre Dame. It was normal that it is now his time to be under the Dome, eat in South Dining Hall, study in LaFortune, work out at Rolfs and rush the field after big wins.
It was normal to be exhausted on Saturday night and yet still rally to go to the 'Backer. It was normal to drink a Long Island Ice Tea, dance and sing to "I Want It That Way."
It was normal to end the night, once again arm in arm with the girls, as the fight song finished and "Oh What a Night" blasted over the loud speakers.
It was normal to come home crammed in a taxi, laugh, eat Papa John's leftovers and go to bed way too late. It was normal to realize that I would leave these best friends in a matter of hours and miss them for months.
It was normal to get up early Sunday morning and go with my family to Bibler's. It was normal to barely be able to keep my head up, wish the weekend had gone by more slowly and feel tears swelling up in my eyes as I hugged my mom, dad, sister and brothers goodbye.
As I was flying back to Oklahoma City Sunday, I realized nothing extraordinary happened this weekend at all. But perhaps that is the wonderful thing about Notre Dame.
It is not the extraordinary events that happen on football weekends — it is the normal events. It's the traditions and the comfortable feeling that takes away the worries about work, the stack of papers I have to grade and the ACE assignment due today.
In fact, it is all those ordinary events this weekend that made my trip to Notre Dame quite extraordinary.
Laura Rompf is a 2002 graduate of Notre Dame. She is currently teaching in Oklahoma City through the Alliance for Catholic Education. Her column appears every other Monday. Contact her at lrompf@nd.edu.
The views expressed in this column are those of the author and not necessarily those of The Observer.
All Viewpoint Stories for Monday, October 7, 2002
