Don’t Cringe, Mother

When you look down from on high. I’ve not forgotten your decades of loyal service as faculty wife and hostess in countless departmental functions. I remember upon my father’s retirement, the glee with which you dispensed of the outfits you’d dutifully donned in the official colours of the institution (because who could be caught wearing Hoosier Red and White at a Boilermaker function?).

I know that someday you’ll forgive me for buying a raft of new, professional clothing and only later realizing that it could all be taken as a riff on the old “Black and Gold.”

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