As a proud parent and Cornell alumnus, watching my daughter begin her journey to Ithaca filled me with both nostalgia and excitement. I found myself revisiting memories of my time on the Hill, all while reminding myself to stay out of her way and let her craft her own story—I would simply be the background “noise.”

Her journey officially began the moment she received a virtual notification announcing her fate. We gathered around her computer, bracing for either heartbreak or celebration. Fortunately, a burst of digital confetti confirmed she was on her way to CU. The moment stood in stark contrast to my own experience: tearing open a thick envelope buried among bills and junk mail—no confetti, no audience, just me reading a congratulatory letter welcoming me to College of Arts and Sciences and a packet of materials for my parents.

Move‑in day was a whirlwind of emotions. As we approached campus, my wife’s gentle nudges reminded me that I was merely the “backstory." Still, passing familiar landmarks stirred my enthusiasm, prompting me to blurt out random comments that probably only heightened the nervous excitement of an incoming first-year student. As we fumbled through the “Alma Mater” during her Convocation, I vaguely recalled that my own welcome speech had been far less warm or reassuring. I silently acknowledged that Cornell had evolved—and for the better.

Before heading home, I tried to offer a few pieces of fatherly wisdom. I reminded her that we share the experience of attending the same university. The academic rigor I once faced remains unchanged and would challenge her as well. Although some buildings and campus layouts have changed, the essence of the place endures. I told her she would create her own stories—some she might share freely, others only when the moment felt right. Most importantly, I encouraged her to embrace the journey, with all its inevitable highs and lows.

Her time in Ithaca gave me every excuse to visit and reminisce about my own years on campus. In truth, these trips were thinly veiled attempts to make sure she was doing well—and occasionally to “drop in” and boost her spirits after long stretches of prelims, papers, and problem sets. Beyond Family Weekend, Homecoming became a “thing”, and the occasional alumni conference was always a welcome reason to return. Any chance to visit was carefully justified, and in the end, we shared many Cornell moments.

Ultimately, she created her own Cornell story by embracing the community—riding TCAT to the Ithaca Farmers Market, engaging with peers, serving as a teaching assistant for STEM courses, conducting research that fueled her scientific curiosity, and proudly showcasing CU as a Big Red Ambassador. She tackled academic challenges head‑on, earning academic honors. She found her favorite library stacks for quiet, focused study, her preferred late‑night watering holes, and the perfect spots to extend conversations long after classes ended. As past president and editor of Crème de Cornell, she uncovered eateries that could make Ithaca rival major foodie destinations. She introduced me to a Cornell I thought I already knew, revealing hidden corners of campus (who knew we had so many coffee shops—or that the top of Sibley dome was accessible to non‑Architecture students?) and traditions I had never experienced. 

After four years of visits—and plenty of inadvertent practice—we finally belted out the “Alma Mater” at Schoellkopf Field on graduation day in a way that would make most of CU’s a cappella groups proud. Today, she returns to campus to reconnect with her Center for Dialogue and Pluralism (formerly IDP) colleagues and discuss the current academic landscape. I never imagined I would one day plan to attend a reunion with my daughter, to relive our Cornell experiences and reconnect with classmates.

After completing her time in Ithaca, her journey continued as a fellow at NIH and now as a PhD student in chemistry at the University of Chicago. For this, I thank Cornell for preparing her well and nurturing her scientific curiosity and ambition.