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Head crooked against a sharp wind and hands shoved deep in my pockets, I remember thinking there were too many eyes tracing my speed walk across God Quad. Is it the Blue-Gold Game already? Are the days passing that quickly? Why have I dodged two middle schoolers, Rev. John I. Jenkins, C.S.C. and an overly apologetic grandmother between Coleman-Morse and LaFortune?

As a sophomore during Junior Parents Weekend, I was woefully unprepared for the infectious enthusiasm and genuine curiosity of the junior class’s families. A shiver of exasperation at the crowded sidewalks was quickly replaced by a solid jealousy. I wanted more than anything to spend the weekend with family instead of my laptop, but I resigned myself to reading “Organic Chemistry: Aldehydes & Ketones” and living vicariously through the delightful smiles and laughter littered throughout campus.

One year and gobs of anticipation later, questions of “Are your parents coming this weekend?” “What time are they getting here?” “Do you want to come to dinner with my family?” filled my conversations for days. I was incredibly excited to meet the people who instilled my best friends with their wit, heart and kooky habits. While my Notre Dame friendships are uniquely energetic and profound, I had missed the hometown intimacy of truly understanding where someone comes from.

I recalled the communion of an invitation to stay for a home-cooked meal and the power of being welcomed to a table anointed with years of family dinners, meetings and conversation. I was nine years old on my piano teacher’s couch, sitting on my hands, swinging my legs and waiting for my sister to arrive. I was 12 and finishing up a group social studies project as the sunlight faded outside. I was 19 and lounging in my best friend’s living room when I heard simmering from the kitchen behind us. Taking these natural transitions as my cue to leave, I would start packing my things only to be met with five sweet words: “Don’t go. Eat with us.” The graciousness of my friends’ families became the catalyst for some of my most cherished hometown memories: salted popcorn and fresh-baked cookies; a bowl of cholar dal and a dad’s revelation that engineers ultimately aspire to replicate nature’s perfection; chrysanthemum tea and a seat at the table. With these experiences in mind, Junior Parents Weekend posed a distinctive opportunity to get a taste of the values, family dynamics and conversations that filled our childhoods and continue to influence our perspectives.

I met my own parents in the Morris Inn lobby, swarmed with warm embraces. As we walked across God Quad, the homesickness of my sophomore self was replaced by an overwhelming sense of gratitude and belonging to the junior class. At the neuroscience and behavior academic workshop, my mom marveled at the incredible women who lead my program and how much our campus has changed since her own JPW in 1986. At the Welsh Family Hall open house, my parents got to know the people and place I’ve called home for the past three years. Cultural club events showcased the vibrancy and diversity of thought, interests and identity in the junior class. Underlying all these interactions was a fervent desire to show my parents, “This is me. These are my people. This is how I spend my days. Thank you for getting me here, for keeping me here.” I felt almost childlike in my inability to articulate the gravity of my gratitude, hoping my eager show-and-tell efforts would capture the well of appreciation.

On Saturday night, the President’s Dinner united the entire junior class for the first time since Welcome Weekend. Staff, faculty, students and families came together to share a meal, a beautiful elucidation of our wonderfully diverse backgrounds and shared Notre Dame stories. Jenkins stepped up to the podium to express eloquently how we spent the weekend “showing our lives to the ones who shaped our lives,” communicating the indebtedness I felt towards my family and the pride our parents felt in entering our world. I realized then that the watchful eyes I felt sophomore year were not full of judgment but rather love. The crowds of people I saw were simply parents eager to experience their child’s daily life and take in everything around them.