Tower of Babble

So here I am, 10:00 P.M. on my fourth day of Biblical Hebrew and I am finding myself not studying diligently for our first Hebrew exam tomorrow morning, but rather driving around the city of Austin, Texas, desperately looking for today’s paper.

“Why a paper?” you may ask. It just so happens that I am the offspring of a genuine, bona fide, die-hard, burnt-orange bleedin’ University of Texas alumnus—my mother. There was a small, rather insignificant football game last night that resulted in a National Championship title for said university and it goes without saying that the humble city of Austin is in a bit of an uproar. I called my mother and told her I would save her today’s Austin Paper commemorating UT’s win, but, alas! I have waited too long and it seems that there are no more newspapers in this godforsaken town.

Even the most jaded curmudgeon can admit to being somewhat moved by the enthusiasm of University of Texas fans. I would wager, though, that the greatest of enthusiasm belongs not to the valiant Vince Young and his family, but rather to my mother. I even drove by the fabled UT Tower in honor of my mother and gazed at its luminous burnt-orange splendor. I drove and gazed and searched not on my own accord, but in the place of the one who does not have the luxury of Austin to gaze and drive herself.

Personally, I do not give a flying rat’s ass for most sports. A liberal arts major, I have never been truly enamored with any kind of physical competition. In PE classes, I was always the stereotypical bespectacled skinny nerd who was picked last for the team-- not that I cared, of course. My goal was to make it though each PE period without getting my ass kicked by a vicious upper-classman and, by the grace of God, I was successful. Yet, despite my strong aversion to sports, I found myself more or less highly engaged in the activity of last night’s Rose Bowl.

I watched the game in honor of my mother. For her, the University of Texas is not merely her and my father’s alma mater, but rather is a symbol of home. The famed University of Texas tower is, to my mother, not a merely a sentimental city landmark, but rather a symbol of the perseverance of the human spirit. Through the tumult of my mother’s childhood, the tower stood tall and imposing, stalwart in the face of adversity. Her love for the University of Texas is a love and pride for her home. My mother did not grow up in the most favorable of circumstances and she turned to other sources to provide the reassurance that was lacking in her home life.

My mother, in many ways, is like that tower: tall, intimidating, comforting, tenacious. My mother is also a source of strength, of support, of reassurance to others. Many depend on her just as she depends on the University of Texas. And this is why I watched the Rose Bowl, wore burnt orange, and performed a futile search for an Austin paper. I do these things because my mother does these things. She is my Tower, my symbol of home; therefore, my participation in various UT rituals are not for the honor of UT, but for the honor of someone greater.