Instead, my heart and mind were flooded with very different remembrances. I thought about walking up the hill to Assembly Hall with my dad during bitter cold winter games. I smiled as I remembered taking my own family each year to the Hoosier Classic games in Indianapolis. I relived Kent Benson cutting down a piece of the net after the unblemished season.
I talked about shots by Keith Smart, uncanny accuracy by Steve Alford, of gutty play by Damon Bailey, and scores of others who proudly wore the school’s colors. I pulled up a YouTube video and made my daughter watch a chair slide across the end of a basketball court. I found an old Farm Bureau commercial and listened to a lady mopping the hallway singing, “Indiana, we’re all for you!”
Instead, I high-fived my daughter, paced around the floor and threw my IU cap at the wall. I yelled myself hoarse, drank colas during timeouts and caused the walls to shake when a basket was scored. I wore my traditional IU garb, had my good-luck chips and queso at Qdoba before the game and thought of having a Mama Bear’s pizza delivered to our car as we sat in line waiting to get into the parking lot at Assembly Hall on a cold December’s night. I held my breath for the last 21 seconds — including two timeouts and a time-keeper who couldn’t push a button. I collapsed and then bounced with victorious jubilance as the Izzo-ites finally had to stand still.
So last night, in front of my television, I had a love that remembered no wrongs. I did not even consider the frailties of the past; I cheered feverishly for the moment and dreamed of future banners on the wall.
Wouldn’t it be remarkable if our love for people were so strong that it would make us not remember wrongs? Wouldn’t that be a love of another kind?
— Tom May is the Minister of Discipleship at Eastside Christian Church in Jeffersonville. He is an adjunct instructor in the Communications Department at Indiana University Southeast.