Rudy by Rudy Ruettiger Page A

young, started a family, and felt he had to work to support that family. He needed a job with security. At least, that’s what he convinced himself he needed. Next thing he knew, thirty years had gone by. And without saying too much, he made it very clear that he regretted the fact that he didn’t pursue his dream. “Go do it, Rudy!” he’d say whenever I brought up the Notre Dame idea. “Who’s stopping you? You can go to Notre Dame. Why not?”
    Why not? I kept asking myself that question. Asking and asking. Was I too scared to take that risk? Maybe. Would I make a fool of myself?
    Quite possibly. What if I give it a shot and I fail? That would be terrible!
    It’s amazing how strong our voices can be when we’re talking ourselves out of something: I should be happy to have a good job. This life isn’t so bad, is it? I have security and safety, and I’m saving some money. I don’t need to go to Notre Dame. People lead really good lives without going to Notre Dame .
    But Siskel’s words, George’s words, and that young lieutenant’s initial encouragement on that stormy sea on our journey across the Atlantic kept bouncing around my head and bringing me back to that much simpler thought of Why not? Then, one day, I finally got a glimpse of what I thought might possibly be my answer.
    I had dated a couple of girls in town after I got back from the navy. One of them I didn’t even really like that much, but her father was a Notre Dame graduate and I just wanted to be around him. How’s that for dedication to my dream?
    I was with the second girl, though, when an opportunity dropped right into my lap: a fellow Joliet Catholic grad who was a year behind me had two tickets to a Notre Dame football game that he couldn’t use and he asked me if I wanted them. “Are you kidding?! Yeah!” So my girlfriend and I took off in my Mustang and made the trip east on I-80 to South Bend, Indiana. I was so excited to see that stadium again. I was so pumped to step foot on that campus again, period. But as we drove into town and headed to campus, something caught my eye that completely turned me around.
    I saw a sign by the side of the road for something called Holy Cross Community College. I looked over and saw a few modest little brick buildings, which I assumed were all part of that school. We were just down the street from Fatima House, where I came for that retreat my senior year of high school. It was basically right across the street from Notre Dame. What is that place? I got chills.
    â€œYou see that little school over there?” I said to my girlfriend. “I think that’s my answer to Notre Dame.”
    â€œWhat are you, nuts?” she said. Like everyone else, it seemed, she was tired of hearing me talk about this Notre Dame dream of mine. I guess you can only listen to people talk about something for so long before you just don’t want to hear it anymore. We all get that feeling, right? Like, Do something about it or shut up already!
    â€œNo, I think that’s it,” I said to her. “Look at it. It’s right there! There’s gotta be a connection. What if that’s my way in?”
    She didn’t get it. My mind kept racing through the whole game. What was Holy Cross? Was it part of Notre Dame? I had heard of community colleges but knew nothing about them. None of my teachers or counselors or anyone had ever suggested to me that it might be an option. This community college is right here! Practically on campus! Could it be a way in? Could I go there?
    It was all I could think about, even as we stepped into that stadium, took our seats on those little wooden bleachers, and watched the Fighting Irish come out of that tunnel with Touchdown Jesus standing tall in the background.
    By the time we walked back to the car, my girlfriend was mad at me ’cause I was so distant and distracted. I didn’t blame her. In my