It really doesn’t matter you went to Notre Dame

Now that I’m almost out of here, I figure it’s probably time I tell you it doesn’t really matter that I went to Notre Dame.

This isn’t to say that I don’t count my lucky stars every day that I wound up here, in a place like this. This isn’t to say that I haven’t met some of the most brilliant, kind people here. This isn’t to say that I don’t love it here or that I don’t cry on command when I link arms with my peers to sing the alma mater at the end of a football game or mass.

This is to say that it’s one thing to be proud to attend this institution or believe there is something really special happening here (there is, indeed, something really special happening here). But it is another thing to believe that Notre Dame people are superior to people who attended other, less elite universities (or did not attend university at all). It is another thing to conflate pride with arrogance.

But more on that later.

ACT I: The best of Notre Dame

It’s sophomore year, and I’ve just gotten my heart ripped out of my chest outside of a Glee Club house party (naturally) on the phone with this guy I swore I was in love with. When I hang up the phone, I go into the party and try to pull it together, but everyone is convinced that I am high as a kite (see: post-cry puffy, bloodshot eyes). One girl sees past the bloodshot eyes and asks me, “Have you been crying?” I tell her, “Yes.” This is when she guides me to the stairwell where we sit. She comforts me, consoles me, listens to me, wipes my tears and gives me the best advice I’ve ever been given. She’s a Notre Dame girl, but she wasn’t always a Notre Dame girl. She was a Gateway like me and attended Holy Cross College freshman year. I think to myself, surely she is the best of Notre Dame.

It’s senior year, and I am crying in an elevator in Main Building on the way to class. My friend asks me what’s going on, so I tell her my dog is dying. Then, the other person in the elevator, a faculty member, whispers, quietly, “I’m so sorry.” I reply, “Thank you.” It is the first time I have felt seen in weeks — because I have been so busy trying to be strong, crying only between classes or in the shower or in my room where no one can see me. I think in this moment, perhaps this is the best of Notre Dame — this faculty member who knows nothing about me, someone just sharing an elevator with me, offering a small, gentle nod of support.

When I think of Notre Dame, I think of moments like these. Gentle nods of support from strangers and friends. I think of a love I never deserved. I think of the way in which our mission to promote the common good infiltrates all our spaces, from CJs to Duncan to the Main Building elevator. Here, we take care of each other. 

ACT II: Who is Notre Dame for?

This question comes up in conversations at the Backer when Notre Dame students argue that Holy Cross and Saint Mary’s students shouldn’t have gotten tickets to the National Championship. This question comes up when Marshall University or Northern Illinois beat us (badly) in football, inviting more discourse on the school’s average SAT scores than the cold hard truth that the Bison and the Huskies simply played better than us that day. This question comes up when Notre Dame boys decorate their dorm rooms with “No Smicks allowed” posters or scoff at other four-year institutions for not being as “elite” as Our Lady’s.

This question, “Who is Notre Dame for?” is one that I’ve been thinking about and wrestling with since I got here in 2021 to begin my Gateway year at Holy Cross College. It’s a question that used to irk me. I used to think that Notre Dame was not for me — because people told me and treated me like I didn’t belong. Boys at parties would look at me sideways as I explained to them my status as a guaranteed transfer student or my life at Holy Cross. I wondered if I was made to feel different from the average Notre Dame student, or if I really was. If maybe I just wasn’t good enough, and that’s why I didn’t get in “the normal way.” It’s taken years for me to realize that I was always good enough, that where I go to school never defined me. That it isn’t everything.

I know it’s not everything because I’ve met the most brilliant, most kind people at Holy Cross College and Saint Mary’s. I know it’s not everything because our subway alumni are just as strong as our regular alumni. I know it’s not everything because success is so subjective and attending an elite university won’t automatically guarantee you a good career or long-term happiness or a life of virtue. 

I know it’s not everything because, frankly, not everyone at Notre Dame will actualize Father Sorin’s vision to “be a powerful force for good in the world,” and yet many who attended other institutions (or did not attend university at all) will.

ACT III: The Notre Dame Way

It’s senior year, and I am arguing with someone over whether or not Holy Cross and Saint Mary’s students should have gotten student section tickets to the National Championship game. I argue, “We’ve all been cheering on the Fighting Irish; they are just as much a part of Notre Dame as we are.” My opponent says, “No, they aren’t. They didn’t get into Notre Dame.” 

This is when I ask the question “Who is Notre Dame for, then?” 

They say, “For people who got in.”

I tell them that Notre Dame is for everyone. I tell them that is the Notre Dame way. I tell them “What happened to love thy neighbor as thyself? Are Holy Cross and Saint Mary’s not our neighbors?” I tell them “What makes people who don’t go to Notre Dame so different from those who do?” I tell them “I didn’t get into Notre Dame the first time I applied. Am I not worthy?” I tell them “It really doesn’t matter that you went to Notre Dame.”

I told them a lot of things. I fought and fought and fought, and then I got a glass of water and left. 

What I wish I could have said is that as far as I’m concerned, if you look down on anyone for the school they attended, for the schools they did or did not get into when they applied their senior of high school, for the opportunities they were and were not afforded in their lives, perhaps you are missing the point. 

Because surely, when we play like champions and beat Ohio State this coming Monday, we don’t look left and right at our brothers and sisters and wonder about their SAT scores or the colleges they did or did not get into or their long list of extracurriculars or leadership roles from high school or their estimated starting salary or their class rank. 

The Notre Dame that I believe in is one that welcomes all. One that does not discriminate, gatekeep, kick people out, tell people they are not good enough. The Notre Dame that I believe in is not reserved for the small percentage of students who get in. The Notre Dame that I believe in is for everyone who wants to further the common good. 

Notre Dame is someone you hardly know wiping your tears in the stairwell of a house party, a stranger showing you a small act of grace in an elevator. That’s the Notre Dame way. That’s the Notre Dame that I’ll say I went to.