Not a Tagalong

By Shannon Reifsteck

“Nick, do you think we’ll be able to see Touchdown Jesus from our seats?” I ask my brother about the infamous mural overlooking the football field.

“I dunno. I hope so.”

Nick and I sat in the back seat of our 1984 white-with-wood-paneling station wagon as Michael Jackson’s Bad played on our cassette player. We normally knew the words, but in our excitement we couldn’t remember them all. Or maybe we were too anxious to sing. We hadn’t slept the night before; our anticipation kept us awake through most of the night. Our matching blue-and-gold nylon windbreaker jump suits—I now shudder at the fashion faux pas our parents were subjecting us to—made swishing noises against the seats. We thought we looked good. We thought we were cool. We were wrong, but it didn’t matter because it was the ‘80s and we were on our way to watch our first Notre Dame football game.…

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