From the Alumni Association of the University of Michigan, this is the voices of Victor's podcast. In this podcast, we focus on homecoming.
Do you remember your first time at the Big House? We'll share an essay from an alum whose first trip to the big house was a life defining moment. And we'll share the story of an academic icon who became an inspiration for fans and students alike. This year has been like no other on campus in recent memory.
How are today's students and faculty navigating the age of covid? We'll talk about it. Plus, our plans for celebrating homecoming virtually and more. Let's get started.
When the fall term began at the University of Michigan, everything looked a little different. Students had committed to wearing face coverings and social distancing. The university adapted new policies for entering facilities to lessen the spread of the disease. Everything from how students are graded to the academic calendar itself needed to be modified for a new normal.
And the Big House sat quiet at the start of the academic year. The Big Ten conference had postponed all four sports due to covid-19 by mid-September. The football season was also modified in tune with the pandemic. With an eight game schedule starting the weekend of October 2013 24th, the big house will be packed not with actual people, mind you, but with cutouts of fans in the stands. Hey, at least the cutouts will do well braving the elements. This brings us to our first story. This essay written by Sarah Sala and read by Katie, reflects on a pivotal moment in her life when she first felt the electricity of attending a Michigan football game.
My father is a man of few, but potent words, a man strengthened by his integrity, generosity and devotion to his children. He's worked doggedly every day of his life to provide me with the best he can. Yet no amount of travel, fashion, a fancy dining could have inspired me more than the Saturday. He took me to a Michigan football game in the car ride to the stadium.
My father explained that because he has no sons, I must be one for him today. His words held no negative connotation, but seemed to convey genuine joy. I quickly consented and my heart drum louder and louder as the miles between the football stadium and me diminished as we parked a quad cab and commenced a long journey to the game. I couldn't help but steal glances of the man ahead of me as one of four daughters. There were not many occasions when I had my father completely to myself. Because of this, I kept staring up at his face, studying it, trying to memorize all of its detail, savoring my good fortune to be his sole companion for the day. As we came up to a chaotic intersection, he grabbed my hand, I'm never going to forget the fleeting moment of safety as we cross the street and made our way toward the game, people poured from every direction, trickling out of cars and swarming over the grass. And we were swept along with them to beans in the thick snarl of humanity.
The big house rose up before us. It's rough brick and iron gates, both welcoming and awe inspiring, hallway after hallway, flight after flight of stairs. We wound through the stadium, shadowy chambers, hotdog vendors, pretzel stands and fan gear with large embroidered block ends all world together in my recollection. And my father stopped short in the midst of all of it.
My eyes snapped to his and he hesitated, laying his right hand on my shoulder. We had reached the final flight of stairs through the shadows that enshrouded us. I made out the blazing light at the top of the step, beckoning me to ascend my heart caught in my chest, a wave of emotion washed so quickly over my father's face that I became alarmed.
Dad, Dad, are you OK? I thought maybe he was queasy. Maybe there was something I could do.
He didn't immediately respond, but a slow smile tugged at the corners of his...
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