Turning down Notre Dame (albeit via the Gateway experience) was not an option because of my grandfather, who we call Papa Pete. Though he wasn’t alive when I received that letter from admissions, I felt his force making my decision for me.
Uncle Rob deserves the credit of getting my lazy self to apply, Notre Dame being my third and final college application.
But, it is because of my eldest cousin Peter that I’ve always had a feeling that Notre Dame was where I would end up.
Those paragraphs might seem oxymoronic, what with being barely industrious enough to apply and ending up at the bottom of the small bucket of Notre Dame acceptances (let’s be real Gateways, it’s why we throw the best parties), all while claiming a personal destiny for this place. Who do I think I am?
I think I’m a Price. Which allows me to borrow from Papa Pete’s “there’s only one quarterback, Geri!” spirit: let me have my moment!
For context: Papa Pete graduated from Notre Dame way back when it was only dudes here. My Uncle Rob graduated from Notre Dame in 1987. And my cousin Peter was the original, proudest subway alum.
There was also a friend of Papa Pete who started the chain that led to my being here, a man who went on to graduate from Notre Dame’s seminary and pulled my grandfather out of Ohio to Notre Dame’s campus: Fr. Pete Logsdon.
Papa Pete passed away when I was 12, and Peter was willed one Notre Dame class ring. But Peter, Uncle Rob’s eldest son, passed away only a year later.
All the Prices who could come descended on South Bend this weekend for the Miami-Ohio game, including my Fireball-taking grandmother.
When I showed up to the family’s weekend Airbnb Friday evening, I got to meet Fr. Pete. He was there to bless the two Price family Notre Dame class rings in the ceremony where Uncle Rob gifted me his.
It was a special moment — one that I rather painfully wish Papa Pete and Peter could have experienced, even though that would mean we would need a third ring.
As Uncle Rob said through damp eyes, you could feel Papa Pete and Peter’s presence in the room. So, despite me acting all cool and secular all the time, the ring is a reminder to me that spirit can’t be killed, no matter the doom I feel in the world.
Rest in peace, Papa Pete and Peter.
Your immortal spirit
Everyone has a different Notre Dame story. I learned this the hard way while working on last year’s Observer commencement edition — which entailed reading, editing and choking up to 11 fantastic farewell columns from last year’s graduating staff.
So this story is for Papa Pete and Peter, Notre Dame alum and subway alum. We love you. We miss you.
When we got the Price gang out for the tailgate before the Miami-Ohio gameday in that September South Bend heat, I could feel your spirits in the ring, in me and especially in Uncle Doug’s absolutely unmatched gameday joy: I was proud. I knew you were proud of us.
And I knew you were proud of how awesome of a tailgate Uncle Rob can throw.
And that’s why I’ll cherish this ring, even though I can’t help but fidget with it in my fingers, even though I act all cool and secular all the time, even though it wasn’t supposed to be mine.
