Students in chapel at the University of Rhode Island
Mike, one of my best college buddies (I only have two left), was a member of the Penn State Swim Team and a life guard at the pool where I had registered for the final phys-ed course of my senior year. Since its founding in 1863 as Pennsylvania’s first land-grant college, it had been a requirement for graduation until recently to be able to pass a basic swimming test. First day of class I sank like a rock. It was Mike, after being assigned as my one-on-one coach, who allowed me to get my diploma. I should mention that it was a women’s phys-ed class and I was the only guy in it, due to my erratic schedule in the College of Arts & Architecture. Mike and I have stayed close over the decades and our ongoing rivalry continues to see which one of us can prove to have been the most prodigal of prodigal sons. Truth be told, neither one of us was particularly prodigal (as in Luke 15:11-32). For years, we have sent each other pictures of paintings depicting the parable of the Return of the Prodigal Son, my favorite being the one by Rembrandt (1669) which I saw hanging in the State Hermitage Museum in St. Petersburg, Russia, in 1998.