Don’t Shame The Floor

In college (the first time 92-96) I was the RA of the Ducks (500 Floor).  It was a year to remember as I was allowed the privilege of stepping into a community of men built on tradition, honor, friendship, eggs and fun.  It was a group of guys who to this day pride themselves on the phrase “Semper Fi Duck or Die.  Of the many traditions on the floor, some of which are now discontinued by the administration for fear of lawsuits, was the rock of shame.  Honor and Integrity actually meant a great deal to this band of manhole borrowing – egg throwing – brothers.  If at anytime they felt you shamed the reputation of the floor through your actions a large rock was placed outside your door.  You then had to carry the rock throughout the day to classes, meals and chapel.  When ask why..your only response, “I have shamed my floor”, because it wasn’t just about you.


My loving mother called last night telling me that Mary and I were talked about yesterday in her Sunday service as an example of “faith and stuff”.  Society these days puts a lot of weight on self…your actions don’t affect anyone else…you are the individual.  I think society is wrong we are not in this alone: failure of honor, integrity, school, grades, job and the like reaches to others around us.  


I am at the overwhelmed stage in the semester with little hope of relief but I can’t quit now.  As I walked out the door this morning, I told Mary I can’t fail to get this degree when so many people are watching.  Her response: “no you can’t – people have prayed, given resources, used us as examples – your boys are watching your determination, you moved me across the state, God has opened doors.  It doesn’t just affect you…you have to press on.”  


So this morning with 3 weeks left in the semester and 112 days to preliminary exams,  I remember the words of the Ducks. 


Don’t Shame Your Floor.   

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  1. #1 by Jon on November 19, 2008 - 3:30 PM

    And you never have shamed the floor. Interesting that we never had a medal of honor. Only a rock of shame. In fact, as I recall, the best we could muster in terms of a big “we love, accept, and support you” was a trip to the Strubel Tree. Perhaps being ambushed by the entire floor and unloaded on with dozens of eggs is the closest college boys get to saying “we love you.”

    We are thinking of you as you poopsmith. Semper Fi.

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