The Pride and Prejudice of a College Dad’s Journey
There’s something profoundly human about the way we project our dreams onto our children, only to watch them chart their own course. As a father, I’ve grappled with this reality in ways both humbling and hilarious. My son Quinn’s journey from a wide-eyed Texas A&M fan to a proud LSU graduate is more than a story of college choices—it’s a testament to the unpredictability of parenthood and the beauty of letting go.
The Early Years: A Fan’s Fandom
Quinn’s love for Texas A&M began as a child’s unshakable devotion. Johnny Manziel was his hero, and Kyle Field his second home. Personally, I think there’s something magical about a kid’s ability to latch onto a team with such purity. It’s a reminder that fandom, at its core, is about belonging. But what many people don’t realize is how fleeting these allegiances can be. By the time Quinn was a teenager, his identity had outgrown the confines of my alma mater’s shadow.
The Rebellion of Growing Up
What makes this particularly fascinating is how Quinn’s transformation mirrored his physical growth. From a pudgy freshman to a towering junior, he shed not just baby fat but also my influence. In my opinion, this is where parenting gets real. You spend years shaping their worldview, only to watch them question it. When he dismissed my advice with a sarcastic, “Yeah, Dad. Today’s the day,” I laughed—but I also felt the sting of irrelevance. It’s a universal truth: kids grow up, and parents adapt.
The College Decision: A Lesson in Letting Go
Quinn’s decision to attend LSU was a masterclass in defiance. I argued for practicality—staying close to home, avoiding out-of-state tuition. But my wife, Irma, saw it differently. Her own journey from Los Fresnos to Cal-Berkeley taught her the value of exploration. From my perspective, this tension between safety and adventure is the heart of parenting. We want to shield them, but we also want them to soar.
What this really suggests is that sometimes, the best gift we can give our children is the freedom to make their own mistakes. Quinn’s choice of LSU wasn’t just about academics or scholarships—it was about carving his own path. And while I grumbled about purple and gold, I couldn’t help but admire his courage.
The Fraternity Years: A Surprising Alliance
One thing that immediately stands out is how Quinn’s fraternity brothers became an unexpected bridge between us. Those ATO boys, with their Fireball and trash talk, reminded me that college is as much about camaraderie as it is about classes. I’ll never forget the night they mocked my prediction of an A&M victory over LSU. “No SEC road game can be taken for granted,” I warned, only to be met with eye rolls. When A&M won, I resisted gloating—their heartbreak was palpable.
What many people don’t realize is that these rivalries are more than just games. They’re shared experiences that bind us, even when we’re on opposite sides. Quinn’s frat brothers didn’t just tolerate me; they embraced me, ribbing me about Brian Kelly and Marcel Reed. It’s a reminder that love and loyalty can coexist with friendly rivalry.
Graduation: A Milestone for Us Both
This Friday, Quinn graduates with a degree in finance—the first in my family to earn a college degree. Personally, I think this is where the story transcends the personal. It’s not just about his achievement; it’s about the generations of Buchanans who couldn’t access this opportunity. I’m damn proud, and not even a little bit disgusted.
Sure, I would’ve loved to buy him an A&M ring. Instead, I’m wearing a $25 LSU dad T-shirt with pride. If you take a step back and think about it, this is what parenting is all about—letting go of your expectations and celebrating their triumphs, even when they’re not what you envisioned.
The Bigger Picture: Legacy and Letting Go
This raises a deeper question: What do we owe our children? Is it our traditions, our advice, or simply our unconditional support? From my perspective, it’s the latter. Quinn’s journey taught me that legacy isn’t about replicating the past; it’s about empowering the future.
A detail that I find especially interesting is how his choices forced me to confront my own biases. I thought I knew what was best for him, but he proved me wrong—and in doing so, made me a better father.
Final Thoughts: The Pride of a Damn-Proud Dad
As Quinn starts his career in Phoenix, I’m left reflecting on the man he’s become. He’s not the wide-eyed A&M fan I once knew, but he’s something even better—a confident, independent individual who’s unafraid to chart his own course.
In my opinion, this is the ultimate success story. It’s not about rings or rivalries; it’s about growth, both his and mine. So, here’s to Quinn, the LSU grad who taught me that sometimes, the best way to honor your legacy is to let it evolve.
And yes, I’ll be damned proud to wear that purple and gold T-shirt.
