When I Die...

...I'll be a Tar Heel dead.

I was in a collaboration meeting today and I mentioned something about changes in racism in the South, North Carolina specifically. I guess I haven't mentioned anything about where I've lived before in that group. One of the other teachers perked up and asked when I lived in NC. I said I went to school at Chapel Hill -- so did he! He was class of '83; me: '98.

It was instant old home week: Pepper's Pizza, He's Not, the Carolina Coffee Shop. The other two teachers in the room were a little lost. They asked what a "Tar Heel" was, so I gave them the schpiel. My Colleague in Light Blue (CiLB) said he would make sure I got it right (of course I did). I also tossed out the tidbit about it being the oldest public university in the nation. I would have told them more (I love talking Carolina), but we did have to get back to work. After the meeting, the CiLB and I walked back to our rooms (he's across the breezeway from me) and talked basketball the whole way.

This is so sweet. We shouted "Go Heels" across the breezeway all day.