Why my son is already a Nittany Lion - Class of 2024, here we come

I don't know what the future has in store for my son, but I imagine the August of his 18th year will include going to orientation at Penn State.
Maybe he'll start out at University Park like his cousins Sarah and Shannon. Maybe he'll start out at one of the satellite campuses like his father and many other family members did.
Either way, we'll be starting his collegiate career at a university that is not defined by a monster and the misdeeds of a few but by the excellence of the many.
He'll be going to a university that counts among its former students: the screenwriter behind "Casablanca," Pulitzer Prize-winning journalists and award-winning authors; the scientists who helped discover the vaccine that protects against cervical cancer; the doctors who developed the heart pump; the inventor of the Slinky; the CEOs of Nike, Fisher-Price, Goldman Sachs and U.S. Steel; actors, writers and directors who were parts of Oscar-winning films; Nobel-Prize winning scientists and the man behind  the Mac.
And that doesn't include the recent crops of graduates. They now have a chip on their shoulder. They're looking at the world saying, "Doubt us? Go ahead. Watch what we're about to accomplish."

He'll have excellent teachers - like his grandfather - who give freely of their time to help students grow into wonderful adults who become pillars of their community, like his aunts and uncles.
Sure, he'll have some doltish teachers. Every school has those. But he'll get by in those classes while he makes friends with other students.  Maybe he'll even run for student government, like his father and Aunt Mary Jo. Maybe he'll join the Blue Band or perform in musical groups, like his Uncle Mike.
Even if he starts - and completes - his degree at a satellite campus, Michael will have excellent teachers and wonderful experiences.Of course, he'll still have the opportunity to go to University Park, enjoy a snack at the creamery, a burger at Baby's or Killer Cookie for Two at The Deli. Yep, he might even enjoy a Monkeyboy at the Saloon.
Maybe he'll work out in the White Building and play pick-up basketball there. I also bet he attends plenty of games at the Bryce Jordan Center, Rec Hall and Beaver Stadium.
I hope he'll spend some nights at the Nat, jumping off the high dive; that he runs the campus in the morning; that he plays racquetball any time he can. I hope he picks up a book at Paterno Library just because it looks interesting. Maybe it'll be "The Aeneid" or "Empire Falls" or something by Dale Brown. Maybe something by one of his dad's friends from the Collegian.
 I hope he goes to Bandorama, argues with the Willard Preacher and hears the glee club sing on football Saturdays.
I hope he dances with a girl he thinks is way out of his league, has a snowball fight on the Mall, and rents movies from Mike's after an evening at the Gaf. I hope he discovers U2, Bruce Springsteen or Billy Joel and has a faint memory of his mom and dad singing those songs to him when he was just a pup.
I hope he learns the "Alma Mater," "the Fight Song" and "The Nittany Lion."
I hope he bounces to "Zombie Nation," pumps his fist to "Seven Nation Army" and sings "Hey Baby" at the top of his breathe.
I hope he plays touch football during tailgates and finds escape through Saturday afternoons at Beaver Stadium.
But I hope keeps a balance. That he understands that football is no more than the icing on the rich and tasty cake of life.
Lastly, I hope he goes to the Dance Marathon. Maybe he'll dance like his Godmother. Maybe he'll just be a donor and a canner like his father. Either way, he'll understand the importance of that weekend.
He'll know that his middle name comes from one of his father's heroes, a friend who died young after a courageous battle with cancer.
Those three nights are not the only things that make Penn State special. They just happen to be the most inspiring.
You can't stop from getting chills when you watch a couple thousand college kids - and the community they love - raise $10 million for kids with cancer.
Friends have asked me if I'd be willing to send Michael to Penn State. They know how angry I've been. At Sandusky. At Spanier, Paterno, the Board of Trustees, Curley, Schultz, Corbett. The whole damn crew.
Of course, Michael could choose to go somewhere else. He won't. It's destiny that he'll go to Penn State, ten of the first 11 family and friends who held him were Penn Staters.
He's got Nittany Lion written all over him.
It's in his eyes, as he curiously inspects his surroundings and seems to ask, "Hey, where did that come from?"
It's in his smile when he welcomes every person he meets with a look of "Hey, we could be friends, let's get a cookie."
It's in his laugh, a giggle that tells you it's going to be all right.
It's in his growl, a low, building roar, that says, "You can knock me down, but you won't ever knock me out."
Yeah, he was born a Nittany Lion.



I know, I know. It's Notre Dame. So what? A lesson can be learned here. Switch "Notre Dame" to "Penn State" in Charles S. Dutton's speech and put a Nittany Lion on top of the shamrock.