I didn’t mind that my father took the scenic route from Bountiful down Beck Street, over the state capital and then up South Temple until we came to the University of Utah campus.
Our destination is the university bookstore. Because I’m not returning to Seattle without a black “Ute” hat.
The university is tucked into to Wasatch Mountains on the eastside of Salt Lake City. When the 2002 Winter Olympics swept through, the university was a large beneficiary. It was a gorgeous campus when I was there in the early 90’s, and it looks even more modern today. I barely recognize Rice-Eccles Stadium.
Yet the campus is much the same as it was in the late 60’s when my father was a student. He points out the building where he took a physics class. I told him that I played a lot of pinball at the student union before showing him where I took numerous German courses.
We made our way across campus talking about whatever came to mind. It didn’t really matter because these opportunities don’t come along often. He tells me that, if he could go back, he would have continued on and earned a Masters. I never knew that. I’m mesmerized listening to him tell me about his college years.
We eventually found the bookstore, and I got the black hat I was after.
But I returned to Seattle with something far more valuable.