Love in the Time of Corona: Update Thirteen: My Dear Ole Alma Mater

 I recently came across an op-ed piece written by an administrator at Syracuse University on the school's website.  In no uncertain terms, he admonishes a group of students who convened on the Quad -- the very location where my well-spent tuition helped me develop a movie-star tan and a kick-ass Frisbee forehand -- in some, presumably, non-social-distanced behavior. 

Once I was done cycling through my appropriately adult reaction of being Shocked and Appalled, I fell into my annoying tendency toward Deanna-Troi-caliber hyper-empathy, as I tried to understand the "thinking" behind what happened that night at my Ole Alma Mater.

A few reference points popped to mind:  my own freshman year experience, of course, and the unabashed sense of independence and elation that  flowed through me at 18 years of age.  I thought also of my niece, whose freshman year at Cornell was cut short last year by the pandemic.  Additionally, I revisited an incident at the high school where I work here in the suburbs of Austin, Texas, that took place just last week.

Much like the esteemed vice chancellor, I was tasked by my principal to respond to an online call to students to gather for a "Senior Sunset," where kids would convene in our student parking lot, and watch the sun go down on the eve of their first day of virtual instruction as 12th graders.

I was more fortunate than Vice Chancellor Haynie, in that I received my intel before the event in question and was able to prevent it with one phone call to the young lady who posted the invite (under her actual name) and her mom.  No investigation, no scrolling through grainy surveillance footage.  Just the conversation, in which I acknowledged the need all people have -- especially young people -- to come together and be social, and then added my final pearl of administrative wisdom:  The sooner we're able to abide by these restrictions, the more quickly we'll get back to "normal."

That worked.  The student posted a cancellation, and the Senior Sunset never happened.  And here's what that unprecedented exchange left me with:  Young people are told "These are your salad days.  You're only young once.  It doesn't get any better than this."  They want to live it up and make the kinds of memories they hear their boomer dad spouting about as they flip burgers and gulp Lite beer at the grill in their Psychedelic Furs and "Kiss the Chef" aprons.  Meanwhile, they're also hearing, "How sad, that this generation will be deprived of these experiences."

Don't get me wrong here:  I'm not excusing the students who participated in this latest shit-show of Trump-era "humanity."  Had one of the revelers been my child, I'd have pulled them out and found a better way to invest $80K a year in a hot second.  But the fuel that caused this fire was the internet.  All it took was one 18 year old, a bong hit, and a decent wifi signal -- one child (let's be honest) who thought, "I wonder how many people would show up if...."

Back in my day, it would have been me and maybe four or five other idiots (some of whom are reading this now, I'm sure) lying in the grass, giggling up at the stars.  Now, it's a full-scale health crisis that leaves us all wondering how the hell we're ever going to get out of this horror.