An unhinged recap of Junior Parents Weekend

Junior Parents Weekend felt a lot like “A Christmas Carol,” the way I encountered all my favorite ghosts in one night (at Newf’s): Ghost of Notre Dame Past, my ex-best friend (spotted at Newf’s); Present, my current best friend (also spotted at Newf’s); and Future, all the people I had no idea existed (though they were also maybe possibly spotted at Newf’s). 

The truth is, it wasn’t pleasant having to introduce my parents to all of these characters at once (at Newf’s). It didn’t make me feel good to send my ex-best friend one of those good old pity waves from across the room, while my parents sipped on their beverages of choice, Diet Cokes (on the rocks). It felt like emotional whiplash, navigating introductions to these people who might have hurt me or loved me (might have kissed me or cried with me or talked crap about me on the morning coffee run).

And while, luckily, most of the weekend, I felt absolutely positively swallowed/suffocated by the love of other juniors and their parents as we all mingled, I couldn’t help but feel a profound discomfort in certain moments. 

Particularly, I felt a profound discomfort when I realized I knew people a little too well to have my fun during JPW. I knew a little too much about the kid sitting six rows ahead of me during mass and a little too much about the kid three tables away from me at President's Dinner. And sometimes, knowing things can be very helpful, but sometimes knowing things can feel extremely unnecessary.

I admit, it was a wee bit alarming, if not disturbing, to bring my parents into this place that I now know so well; I think I might know it too well. 

It felt like a very different Notre Dame than the place where my parents dropped me off three years ago. It felt like a new Notre Dame, a Notre Dame where I now have good and bad memories associated with almost every building on campus, except for maybe Knott Hall (because I’m convinced Knott Hall doesn’t really exist). 

It also felt like a new me, a me that knows better, loves better and also occasionally has to face people I sincerely do not want to face. 

I’m realizing the magic of Notre Dame, Indiana is sometimes its downfall — Notre Dame, Indiana is a teeny tiny place. It’s awesome and terrifying, and when you’re a junior at JPW, maybe a little extra terrifying. 

But also, I say all this knowing (and truly believing) that Notre Dame, Indiana is still the place for me, even when I’m bumping into campus liabilities and guys who tell girls they are “considering the priesthood” to get out of dating them (true story). 

The truth is, there will always be more guys “considering the priesthood” just like there will always be more people to saunter past at the bar, in the hopes of being noticed (again), maybe noticed for the ways you’ve changed (or haven’t changed).

There will always be more pity waves to give on the morning walk to class, the wave that says: I’m only doing this because I feel obligated to acknowledge your existence, even though your existence makes me physically ill (so here’s a pity wave).

There will always be more people you wish you’d met in a different life, people you wish you could’ve met ten years from now at some Notre Dame bar in Chicago where you'd ask them, “What dorm were you in?” just like old times. 

And, of course, there will always be more people you don’t want to bump into with your parents during JPW, and the truth is, you probably will. You probably will bump into them, and perhaps that pity wave will turn into a pity stop-and-chat-with-my-parents. But maybe in that pity chat, you’ll get another pity smile and then something else — a laugh or a lingering look that tells you perhaps that pity wasn’t really pity at all. It’s something ineffable, and something hard to qualify because words are so fickle and feelings are so constant.

Maybe it’s love? Maybe it’s sharing? Maybe it’s the mere acknowledgement that we both exist in this half-baked utopia called Notre Dame, Indiana? This place where we live and hurt?

It’s easy to scan the room and look for everyone who’s hurt you (or whom you’ve hurt). It’s easy to play the shame game, passing the shame around like it's a hot potato, passing the shame in the form of sad smiles and more pity waves. But it’s even harder to realize that at the edge of all that shame, all that hurt that walks through Duncan Student Center or takes lake walks (just like you do), there is a lot of love. There is a lot of sharing. 

There is a lot of sharing sunsets and lead water (if you live in Zahm or Pangborn). There is a lot of sharing sticky bar floors or stadium bleachers. There is a lot of sharing air and space and morning walks to class. 

There is a lot of love here, even when you can’t see it.

There is a lot of community here, even when you don’t feel it.

And, of course, there is a lot of hurt here — but if we’re not hurting, perhaps we’re not living.

Sometimes, I wonder, if we aren’t all here together, in Notre Dame, Indiana (with our parents or otherwise), where on earth are we? What are we doing? Where are we going? Who are we avoiding? 

It’s scary, feeling so old and so jaded, but also, perhaps equally, so full of joy and excitement for tomorrow, a tomorrow where some of us might exchange pity waves, but some of us might stumble into the best conversation of our lives (with friends over Vitamin Waters in a LaFun booth), a tomorrow where things are still allowed to hurt, but where, I swear, everything heals with time. A tomorrow where perhaps the hurt we’ve experienced here in Notre Dame, Indiana can become love again.

Kate Casper (aka, Casper, Underdog or Jasmine) is from Northern Virginia, currently residing in Rome. She strives to be the best waste of your time. You can contact her at kcasper@nd.edu.