When you send your children to your alma mater, that shared experience becomes a bond. I could not wait to share the University of Virginia with both my children; the serpentine walls that weave under graceful magnolias behind the lawn, the white dome of the Rotunda gleaming against a blue autumn sky, the sugary warmth of a grillswith (two grilled glazed donuts topped with vanilla ice cream) devoured on The Corner in the wee hours of the morning, and the festive throngs of young men and women on Rugby Road on Friday nights.
No one wants to share a tradition of predatory violence against women. No one wants to share a legacy of rape.
Fortunately, for the vast majority of the hundreds of thousands of students who have walked across the university’s historic Lawn before and since the day I arrived in September of 1975, their memories of UVA aren’t…
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