Homecoming (warning: sappy college reminiscence)

I drive a Bison Mobile. Let’s be honest: it’s golden yellow with two giant OBU stickers and will soon have a comemorative OBU license plate on the back. It’s a sort of VERY happy coincidence. One I wouldn’t change for the world.

For the last four years I’ve been all about OBU. My nickname Sophomore year was Miss OBU. Who’s got spirit? Me. All up in hur.

When graduation came I was nearly in a panic. Yes, I didn’t have a job and that contributed to it… But after 3 years of being Miss OBU, doing EVERYTHING there was to do on campus, I was a little at loose ends. I loved residential life and living life with people (as we termed it…). I loved the gold flowers in the brick flower patches. I loved the creepy statue of Dr. Scales that greeted me on my way to class. The musty smell of Shawnee’s Basement (AKA an English major’s home). The smell of WMU when you walk into the front door, like girl’s perfume, laundry, and home. The crooked, decaying sidewalks from WUA to the GC. The holy beep of your ID card before and after Chapel. The odor of crappy, burnt coffee in Java City. The Submarine in the library and its academic prose.

But I can never know it the same again. The Submarine in the lib isn’t the same without a Civ Cram with my study group (we nearly got kicked out every time we were in there). I’m certainly not going to go to Java City on purpose, but it sufficed during long nights and early mornings.

It took a trip to Hawaii, a long summer at home, and an all-consuming ministry/job at school to bring me out of my SAD (school acquired depression). My very good friend, and Farkle-Family sister, is coming into town today. We may not go to all of the homecoming festivities at OBU, but I think I can finally face the campus without the tinge of jealousy I feel when I see freshmen walking out of WMU. Without that passion I feel when I see Raley Chapel watching over all its little Bison. Without the memories of late nights past haunting me when I see Taylor Residence Center.

It’s taken me a long time — at least it feels like a long time — to remember the feeling I’ve always had before. That feeling I’d get when I parked near the North 40 or next to Montgomery Hall. It’s that calming, sweet feeling of going home. OBU will always feel like home.

God Bless OBU. MK


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