At the religious university where I work, COVID took a heavy toll on everyone. I’m not talking about sickness or death. I’m talking about a social toll. Students, sequestered away for a year, struggled to reconnect outside of social media. They also seemed to have lost confidence in their ability to make friends in an in-person situation.
For that reason, the religious and university leaders were determined to help correct this challenge. They set a night as “Date Night” for all the students on campus to get a date, and the bill would be on the university. It would be just over a week before Valentine’s Day, and there would be ice cream and lots of activities, including pickleball matches led by the university president and his wife.
It was big talk on campus for the three or four weeks leading up to that night. Students in my classes brought it up every day. Roommates were encouraged to help set up others in the apartment on blind dates if they struggled to find someone on their own. I even had students come to talk to me before and after class.
One young man asked me how a guy would go about asking a girl out.
“Have you ever tried?” I asked.
He shook his head. “With COVID we couldn’t really meet in person, so there wasn’t any opportunity. Then, when it was over, it was a habit to just stay home.”
“The first thing you do is simply to visit with a young lady and get to know her,” I told him.
“But what do I say?” he asked.
“Don’t you ever visit with girls on the phone or on Facebook?” I asked.
He nodded. “But that’s different.”
“Not really,” I replied. “Just talk about the same things you do there. I see you visit with your math group in my class. When there’s a lull in the conversation, just ask a girl if she has a date to Date Night. If she says she doesn’t, ask her if she’d like to go with you.”
It wasn’t long before he had a date with a girl in his group. I saw the interaction, but he came to tell me about it anyway. I high-fived him, and he went away smiling.
The Tuesday before the big night, we had a campus-wide devotional, and the university president reminded everyone to get a date and come have fun. Later, at a faculty meeting, he told us that a young lady came to visit with him after the devotional and could hardly contain her excitement.
“I’ve got to tell you what happened,” she said. “When you made the announcement, I was sitting by the love of my life.” She paused and smiled shyly. “Actually, he doesn’t yet know he is the love of my life, but he is. Anyway, I was sitting by him, and I asked him if he had a date for Date Night, and he said he didn’t. Then he asked me if I had one, and I told him no. He then asked, ‘How about you go with me?’ President, I can’t believe it. He asked me out.”
The president shared in her happiness; then she turned to leave. Instantly, she turned back and said, “When we get married, I’ll send you an announcement.” Then she rushed off to catch up to the love of her life.
The college president said, “We all need to have that kind of confidence and enthusiasm.”
In a meeting with the vice presidents, the president asked how many they should plan on for the ice-cream. The consensus was that 2500 would probably come. The president said, “Let’s assume 3000 and plan for 3500.” They were way wrong. There ended up being more than 7000 students there. They ran out of ice cream in about fifteen minutes. Staff members were dispatched to buy ice cream at all the stores, but they still couldn’t get enough.
Listening to my students talk about it in class the next day, I knew it was a big hit. The young people had connected in ways some of them never had. One girl summed up how many of them felt.
“It feels like COVID is finally over,” she said.
