Do you remember that way back in June we moved from hot and humid Georgia to hot and humid Missouri so that my husband could begin seminary? Well, I sort of thought of that as the beginning of school, because for my husband and 40 other men it was. Only, it wasn’t. It was the beginning of summer Greek, which is a life and world unto itself. Summer Greek has its own culture, language (Greek. duh.), and social events. It is sort of like Ranger school in the army – your husband disappears for eight weeks and when people ask about him all you have to say is “summer Greek” to get looks of sympathy and/or understanding. The wives who have been through it are encouraging and supportive; the students who haven’t are respectful; but the rest of the community goes on with their normal lives unaffected by the frenetic memorization and translation and periodic hazing (not really) of the summer Greek students.
Today, however, “real seminary life” began. This morning between 7:30 and 8:00 my entire neighborhood was abuzz with activity as the carpools pooled and students gathered, engaging in the seminary equivalent of high school “first day of school” conversations. By 8:30 there were only four cars in our parking lot and the sound of my children playing made a strange echoing noise against the bare concrete. It’s the first day of real classes and Jonathan is a real seminary student.