Student athletes must selectively choose how to spend their limited amounts of free time, and a number of these athletes choose faith and religion. So why don’t we hear more about it?
My rental bike was stolen last week from the knoll between Fahey-McLane and frat row. Let me say, if you’re the mongrel who stole it and you’re reading this, I wish you no bodily harm. I would rather you grow up to perfectly resemble a parent you despise, or a person whose presence will remain addicting to you for the rest of your life breaks your heart, or you realize on an early deathbed that you never had a proud moment that came from within.
We must find something or someone meaningful enough to help shepherd us through our descent into an environment more conducive to all sorts of life. For me, Beverly Daigle, an 81-year-old blind woman from Lebanon, New Hampshire, was that someone.
Did you ever play the ’90s computer game “Where in the World is Carmen Sandiego?” I really loved it. As we speak, the world — myself included — is dying to know the whereabouts of North Korean dictator Kim Jong Un.
During the first weeks of this term, my social relevance somehow increased. With fraternity rush impending, I, alongside many other men in my class, was starting to be taken seriously as a potential new member by fraternities. This was a strange reversal from our invisibility to the frat brothers when we hung around in their basements as freshmen — it was almost a throwback to orientation. “What are you taking this term?” and “Where are you from?” were questions I heard far too frequently.
As the air gets colder and the sky starts to merge darker shades of blue and purple, I often find myself, whether suffocating in the stacks on Sunday night, hanging in my room or lounging on the Green, absentmindedly wondering why the bells of Baker Library haven’t yet tolled the “Alma Mater.” It is not long after I pause my work and mull over this thought that the bells unfailingly begin, and it is then that I resume my work with a habitual nod of satisfaction.