The Little Tyke and the Nittany Lions

Over fifty years ago, I graduated from the Pennsylvania State University—Penn State—which is in the middle of nowhere, out in the center of the commonwealth. There were 30,000 students on campus at the time, and now there are 60,000. Alumni are blanketed all across the nation, while their progeny often profess the same school spirit as their parents.

The campus is at the foot of Nittany Mountain, an Algonquian word meaning “single mountain” at just over 2,000 feet of elevation. In days gone by mountain lions roamed the forests, so it was an easy step for the college mascot to become a Nittany Lion. It is tradition to climb Mt. Nittany at least once while at Penn State and a surprising number of students do—more school spirit.

Beaver Stadium, with a capacity of 106,000, made of steel, is the second largest in the country. The seismograph in the geophysics lab across the campus regularly registers “earthquake” readings every time the hometown team scores a touchdown.

Throughout the massively attended football games, the cheer of N-I, double-T, A-N-Y is called out, again, and again, with arm motions to one side, overhead, and then the other side. 

Two dozen cheerleaders, through their blue and white megaphones, call out to the crowd, “We Are!” The thunderous response comes back, “Penn State!” The number of times this occurs during any game, like an incantation to summon even more school spirit, are too numerous to count, while the focus is on “the boys in blue” on the field of play. 

This is Penn State, in a nutshell.

* * *

Last week, Cynthia and I flew from Fort Lauderdale to the Washington Dulles International Airport, 25-miles west of the Nation’s Capital, for a five-day stint to take care of her three small grandsons. As a long-suffering claustrophobe, Cynthia always finds a seat in First Class. It quells the symptoms, provides more space than in the rest of the plane, and is closer to the front exit.

Beside her was another grandmother, with a three-year-old clinging to her. For the impish little tyke, it was every bit the same as with all primate moms, holding and protecting their offspring through the millennia. He was a cutie with bushy dark hair and a smile that seemed permanent. You would have to see him for more than for a few moments to realize the smile never did seem to go away.

Speaking with the grandma, Cynthia learned the boy had been born at seven months, two-months premature, weighing a single pound. You could have held him in the palm of your hand.

He spent seven months in hospital care before he had grown enough, and gained enough weight, to be released and start his life outside of a Neonatal Intensive Care Unit bassinet.

Preemie babies sometimes have difficulties beyond those that come from missing their mother’s nourishment. There may be cognitive issues, learning deficits, or other abnormalities, when they are far too young and too tiny to see the symptoms. They take time to watch and diagnose.

I noticed he was wearing little pajama bottoms that were purple with the VT logo of the Virginia Tech Hokies. That was interesting to me, because I was wearing my navy-blue baseball cap with silver, block letters, “Penn State” on the front. School spirit, all around, I thought. As we all departed the plane, there was still the ever-present smile in the tot’s countenance—and the constant clinging to grandma. 

Coincidentally, the rest of grandma’s large family contingent reached the drive-by, pick-up area the same time we did and we all waited together.

Then, the little boy spoke for the first time. It was quite a surprise when he called out, “We Are!”

Everyone stopped to look around, trying to understand what had happened—and why?

I referred to his baggy pants with the Hokies emblems. His grandma said they had been to Blacksburg for her granddaughter to visit the campus, then further explained, “But we all went to Penn State!”

There it was. A possibly learning-diminished, undersized, three-year-old had seen the lettering on my hat, maybe even the small oval logo of the Nittany Lion’s head below it, all in PSU navy blue. Then he repeated words he had certainly heard before, apparently, many times. He was his own small cheering section for something he could not yet truly understand. But he had—at the sight of the hat—put his own two-and-two together, and came out with a blasting “Four!” in his own way, “We are!”

For such a small child, who almost didn’t speak at all, did he actually read the letters, “Penn State,” and understand them, enough to make him truly a savant, and at his age? Maybe it was just the image, which he had surely seen many times. He had heard the chant from the television—and from his much older relatives in the room—focused on the cheerleaders and the cheering crowd, to the point that he could mimic it. 

Now, months after the football season (when he would have been only two-and-a-half), it is possible that he is not behind his peers. He may even have surpassed them, in terms of his own mental development.

And all of this from wearing a Penn State baseball cap, at just the right moment. 

The grandma looked at me, realizing the same things I did, and gave an appreciative nod. Now she would have something to tell his doctors. They, too, might see the little smiling tyke—in a different light.

Wayne A. Barnes

Reston, VA

Father’s Day

June 15, 2025