Dear Harvard, I love your gates,
your stone buildings,
and the venerable wooden doors of your Divinity School.
I love the Div School's balustrades and bannisters,
its colorful tiled floors gently worn down by generations of students and professors,
and windows that look like they came from a monastery.
I love that ivy grows outside and inside those windows.
I love the Div School library, with the most intriguing titles on the spines of books,
I love that the first Bible printed in North America was printed by you. In 1663. In Algonquin.
I love that the HDS library has various cozy chairs for curling up and studying in.
I love that you are old and traditional...
but up-to-date and eco-sensitive, too:
I love that, when Lovely Daughter #2 goes anywhere now, she carries a bunch of flash cards with her and whips them out to study.
I love that I got to attend a class with her, where a tweed-clad professor lit our brains on fire. And I took notes like any student would.
It was as exciting to me as bungee-jumping off a bridge in New Zealand might be to somebody else.
It was like an answer to a prayer.
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