Vacation with Michael Day 4: Happy Valley

Michael and I on a blustery day in Happy Valley.

Sunday might have been the most emotional day for me since Michael's birth.
We took Michael to State College for the first time.
If you know me, you know what Penn State means to me. It's not just a football team or a school. It's home. My father taught electrical engineering and coached basketball at one of the branch campuses, Penn State Worthington-Scranton. My mother worked there. I played baseball there. I was student government president. I can remember walking around that campus in Dunmore when I was just a child. I'd hide out in my dad's office, pretending to be a Ghostbuster, while he taught classes.

That's me, kneeling fifth from the left.

As for University Park, I think my earliest memory is from a trip there. I vaguely remember going to my sister Mary Jo's apartment. I was three or four when Mary Jo graduated, so this memory is pretty early. I'm pretty sure I remember my sister Betsy being there, too.  I wanted something to drink and Mary Jo gave me this glass filled with a dark liquid. She told me it was iced tea. I remember saying I didn't know what that was and asking if they were sure they didn't have apple juice.
I remember not liking the tea. It's my first memory of anything bitter.
Now, I'm practically addicted to iced tea.
I have similar memories of visiting all of my siblings while they were students at Penn State.
It's where I first saw an R-rated movie ("A Few Good Men" with my brother Mike), where I first met my sister-in-law Patty (I transformed into a car upon the introduction. Ert-eet-ert-eet-ert), where I got "The talk."
And then I went to school there, gaining some of the best friends anyone could ask for.
It's not just the place where I grew up. To myself, and others like me, it really was the safest place on earth.
That's why the past year has been so devastating.


(Pat's Note: If you don't want to read about my thoughts on the scandal, but do want to read about our trip, skip to the next page)

It's hard to imagine, but that's me third from the right, in the sweater.

One of my other earliest memories is of looking up at my father. We're in the stands at Beaver Stadium and he's peering through binoculars. He's telling me about the man who patrols Penn State's sidelines, Joseph Vincent Paterno. When your father looks up to someone, that can only mean one thing: That person must be a god or at least close to it.
I have one other important memory of my father and Penn State from my childhood. It's the memory that will mean the most to me when he's gone.
I'm about six or seven. I'm looking down on my father - when does any six year old get to do that? - from a small tree in a parking lot near one of the dorms at Penn State. Dad's sipping a coffee and reading a book. I'm out on a branch playing with some Transformers. I watch as my father looks for me and notices I'm not there. He says my name. I stay quiet and watch as he walks around looking for me. I'm too innocent to realize how much I might be scaring my father. When he finally finds me, he doesn't yell at me. He laughs. I remember feeling very loved then as he rubbed my head.
Shortly after Molly told me we were having a baby, the Sandusky news broke.
I remembered interviewing Sandusky and him having his arm around me as we talked. I remembered how my father had even spoken more highly of Sandusky than Paterno at times.
While the news bothered me greatly, my love for the school stayed strong.
I used to joke that my child could be a Democrat or Republican, a Mets fan or Phillies fan, but would have to be either a Penn State fan or go to Penn State. My school would somehow be my child's school.
But as football season came near, I couldn't really get into it.
We scheduled a baby shower the day of a game. I didn't even realize it. I always checked the Penn State schedule. Stuff like that wouldn't have happened in previous seasons.
Part of me realized this was going to be bigger than Sandusky.
Then the charges were filed. It was so much worse than I could have imagined. Two Penn State officials were charged with perjury. A coach claimed to have seen an assault. Paterno had been told.
And Jerry Sandusky had been in the football facilities months after Paterno had testified. He - and other Penn State officials - knew what his former assistant was accused of. They knew he was a danger to children and the program. Yet, Sandusky was allowed in the buildings.
I wanted to vomit.
I thought about loyalty.
A big part of me said, "Joe couldn't have known. Defend him."
But a bigger part of me said some things mattered more.
Those children, for one thing.
I also realized that I had to be loyal to the beliefs and ideals that Penn State, Paterno and my father had taught me. Doing more than what's expected, doing the right thing, protecting the defenseless.
Those ideals will always be more important than any man or institution.
Now, I didn't like the way Paterno was fired, but I agreed with the decision.
And, no, I don't think the media, the board of trustees or the scandal killed Paterno.
He might have died with a broken heart, but cancer killed him.

But Coach Paterno will always be more to me than this scandal.
He's a coach who never forgot he was also a representative of a school. Scholastics were so important to him he helped make that small school one of the brightest beacons of light in this state.
He's a man who dedicated time and money to the Special Olympics.
And yet, I couldn't help but feel the man who always seemed to do more, hadn't done enough.


So I was filled with emotion as we drove to Penn State, on our way to see a basketball game with friends at the Bryce Jordan Center.
I still want Penn State to be a place that will fill Michael with pride.
I'll point to the dance marathon, which raised $10 million for kids with cancer this year.
Think about that. College kids raised $10 million for young children with cancer. Remember that next time you question whether the youth of today care about society. (If you really want to be inspired by Paterno and Penn State, click here.)
I'll point out all the professors who don't just teach subjects, but students. Who stay late after class and welcome students into their homes. I watched my father do that for years.
I'll point to the alumni, who've written best-sellers and award-winning movies, founded Fisher-Price, won Nobel prizes, won Olympic medals and gone into space. Oh, and invented the Slinky.
Our first stop on Sunday was The Creamery.
It was the perfect symbol of what Penn State is today.
It's not the Creamery of my youth. It's been moved. The equipment seems state of the art. Someone paid big bucks to have their name attached.
Like Penn State, it's more corporate and less mom-and-pop.
But you still get the same quality ice cream.
And for the first time in Michael's life, he ate something other than his mother's milk.
I don't think he liked the coldness of the ice cream.
But he survived the Creamery.

Michael's grandfather is the guy with the tie.

Then it was off to the BJC.
It means an awful lot to me that my son's first Penn State event wasn't a football game, but a basketball game. This has nothing to do with the scandal.
This has everything to do with what Penn State means to me.
I grew up running around that gym while my dad ran practices at the Scranton campus. I remember scampering about the weight room and hiding under the bleachers while his players were probably running wind sprints at the time.
When I got to college, and my father was long retired from the bench, he would lend me the key to the gym. Instead of going out drinking, my friends and I would play ball well into the early hours of the night. (Yep, another former coach with access to the building.)
So I might be the only person in the world who associates basketball with Penn State more than football.
We took our seats just in time for the "Star Spangled Banner." For the next two hours, I didn't think about the past year. I showed Michael the Nittany Lion. We almost even got the two of them together for a photo, but the Lion is a hard creature to corner.
Michael got to meet Jeff Rice, one of those great friends you pick up in college. The kind you don't see a lot, but when you do, it's like you've been hanging out regularly since graduation.
When we were leaving the stadium, our friends wanted to go see the Paterno statue.
I went along with a heavy heart. I was thankful I didn't have to explain the scandal to Michael.
Truth be told, I never liked the statue. I thought Paterno deserved a better monument. And I didn't like that he had his finger in the air. I'd always thought of Paterno as too humble to do that.
Yet I'm glad we went. It was a good reminder of the things Paterno did that we can all be proud of. The winning seasons, standing up to the problems within college football and the gifts he gave to so many.

A taste of The Creamery

We drove by the Paterno Library, the true monument to the legendary coach. We didn't get out, though. Someday, I'm going to take Michael there. That's where I'll tell him about the complex man his father once thought could do no wrong. I'll tell him the whole story. It will be a way to show him that every decision you make has an impact on others.
We passed the library and stopped at the Nittany Lion Shrine. I've always thought it was weird to call it a shrine. That's too religous a word for me. No miracles occurred there. No ghostly appearances.
On Sunday, however, I realized why it's OK to call it a shrine.
It was there that my heart felt better. As we stood next to the shrine and our friend Chuck took some pictures, I felt so much pride for my school.
I propped Michael up on the shrine and I felt at peace with what Penn State meant to me. I knew no monster could take that away from me or any other alumni. I knew that it all meant so much to me.
I was reminded of the day he was born.
He didn't come into this world in the easiest way. Among a couple of complications, the umbilical cord was wrapped around his neck. So he was taken to the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit. The doctor told me I could go see him while his mother recovered.
It was then that I held him for the first time. He was bundled up in this white blanket and blue hat. Funny how things work out, isn't it?
We were looking at each other when I thought I'd sing to him. After singing "Take Me Out to the Ballgame" I couldn't think of any other songs. None.
Next thing I knew I was singing "For the glory of Old State, for her founders, strong and great."
When I was done, it only seemed natural that I followed with "Every college has a legend, passed on from year to year."

"May no act of ours bring shame to one heart that loves thy name..."

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