When I was a teenager, my school would receive the occasional bomb threat. The student council donut sale would be relocated to the parking lot
Inside a letter meticulously written, with roman numerals atop each of its eight translucent pages.
“The air itself is a vast library on whose pages are forever written all that has ever been said.”
-Charle Babbage, 9th Bridgewater Treatise 1837
Truthfully, sometimes I think that the bullet points, lists, self-assessments, and strategies amount to little more than modern-day alchemy, a way to turn the average metal of humanity into superhuman gold.
Where is home really? Where do we shelter when we are in unfamiliar territory? How do mere mortals do something transcendent? Which strangers will become friends that guide and walk with us? What does it mean to be someone’s mother or father? How do we keep children safe and raise them to adulthood? Struggle, displacement, uncertainty, identity, fear, perhaps longing for something easier or something past, all wrapped up in that humble nativity scene.
Note: This will go out to our campus through the Office of Faculty Governance tommorow. Dear Carolina Community: When I was in 8th grade, I