Southern suns and sky blue water

As you may or may not know, my parents and I dumped about 100 grand into the University of Miami's coffers a number of years back, and I am proud to call myself an alumnus. You also may or may not know that the school is being lambasted in the media -- mainly sports media -- because of accusations levied by a career liar convicted felon. Goes by the name Nevin Shapiro. He was a Miami sports booster, donating money to the University, money that may have been funds from his Ponzi scheme. (Did I mention he's a convicted felon?) Now his allegations threaten to bring down one of the most storied football programs in the country, by virtue of the NCAA's so-called "death penalty".



I'm not here to say whether Shapiro's allegations are true or false. NCAA investigators will determine that. It's easy to think of these guys as pro players in miniature, but we're talking about 18 and 19 year old kids. You throw money in a kid's face, one who most likely came from a poor family who can't even pay the electric bill, living in a bad neighborhood (go spend some time in Miami's Overtown if you need a frame of reference here), and you expect that kid to walk away? I think this man preyed on young men who had big dreams. I am not saying these kids are completely blameless. But to kill an entire program because of the alleged actions of a few?


This hurts my heart more than you could possibly imagine. I am a Hurricane, a proud one, and I always will be. This stains the school I love and the 4 great years I spent there. What's getting lost in all of this are the students, the alumni, and the players themselves, those young men who actually do have big dreams.

There is something about college ball that is so much more than the game. It is about the love of your school, and the pride of being a part of something special. Whether ranked or unranked, Division 1 or Division 1AA, college teams mean something, they stand for something, because of the students and alumni they were built around. There is a power that comes from what each of us give to our school: a little piece of ourselves. Those years of joy and tears, disappointment and triumph. I am a part of the fabric of the University of Miami, as each of you are a part of your alma maters. We are a part of that proud history, as that proud history is a part of us, as well.

Top row, 2nd tuba from the left. Hi Mom!

I was a band geek, you know. Yes, I voluntarily put on an ugly polyester uniform in 110 degree heat and 98% humidity, just for the sheer joy of being a part of my school, my team. I will never forget my first game, running onto the field of the Orange Bowl as my heart pounded and butterflies filled my stomach, the crowd roaring. I remember those first notes I played, with all the breath I had in my lungs, as the hair on the back of my neck stood up, sweat pouring into my eyes. And the crowd, the crowd cheering and singing the fight songs as we played. I was so proud to be a part of that, something so much more than myself, something so special. Even though those uniforms were fugly and hot as hell.

My heart breaks for my alma mater and my team. But I tell you this: no matter what happens, I am and forever will be a Miami Hurricane, and I will wear that mantle proudly and enthusiastically, holding my head high; not so much because of what I left of myself in Coral Gables, but because of what UM left in me: Hurricane Pride.


Go Canes!

Fear and longing in New Jersey

Tonight is my last night in my current domicile. And while I am excited and happy, I am also sad and frightened. I wrote this in a journal, dated March 27, 2011:

"I don't have a real life. I live in limbo, stuck in space between reality and make-believe, truth and imagination, adulthood and childhood. It's not bad, it just isn't real. This isn't what my life is. At 33 I should have my own place, my own furniture, adult friends. But I don't. I live in a sorority house in central Jersey that could qualify as a TV show for MTV or Bravo. '7 addicts, all strangers, living together'. It's the surreal world. Sometimes I can't help but think this is not my life -- it's not sad or upsetting, just so different from what I one knew. Or perhaps, this is more real than my life before. This at least is honest, and raw, and uncensored. This is truth, this is reality. Perhaps the last 32 years were the dream state, phony. I don't know, but I don't think it matters. I am here, I am alive, and I am learning to live honestly, without fear or lies. I think that is reality. It is the truth, no matter how ugly, but that's what makes it so beautiful."

I am about to embark on the next leg of my new surreal life, and I am terrified. Not that I won't make it, but that I won't be able to rise to the challenge, that I will crumble into a million pieces, unable to be the woman and mother I need to be. I feel unsteady, caught once again, this time between my life as it is, and my life as it will be. I am so lonely. I am so afraid. I have detached myself from those I have come to love, and I miss them, even as I spend my last night among them. It's not as if I'm moving to Ohio, I'm still stuck in this God-forsaken state, just 50 miles north. It is more about how it feels to break away, to start all over again, again. I am afraid. And I am so lonely.