A Map, a Water Tower, and Nana

It was September 9, 2016—about a month after I had started my freshman year at Clemson. That night, around 9:00 p.m., my roommate and I somehow managed to get completely lost on campus. Looking back, it's funny because Clemson isn't exactly a city. But when you've only lived somewhere for a few weeks, every building looks the same once the sun goes down. I believe Nana had texted me about something and I responded that we were lost and I'd get back to her in a bit. Most grandparents probably would have replied with something like, "Be careful," or "I'm sure you'll figure it out." Not Nana. She called me. I remember standing in what felt like the middle of a field, trying to explain where we were. I knew there was a water tower nearby, but that was about the only landmark I could identify. Every direction I gave her probably made things more confusing. "I see a water tower..." "...and there's grass." Not exactly enough for Google Maps. Instead of giving up, she sat at her computer and started studying a map of Clemson. She patiently asked questions, trying to piece together where we were while I gave the world's worst directions. At one point she even emailed me a PDF map of campus to help us figure it out. I honestly can't remember why we weren't just using GPS. Maybe we had poor cell service. Maybe our phones were almost dead. Maybe we simply didn't think of it. What I do remember is this: My Nana was sitting at home late on a Friday night, determined to help her grandchild and another kid she didn't know find their way. She wasn't annoyed that I had interrupted her evening. She didn't make fun of us for getting lost. She simply treated our little freshman crisis like it was the most important thing happening at that moment. That's who she was. Whenever someone she loved needed help—even for something as small as finding their way across campus—she showed up. I've forgotten a lot about my first semester at Clemson, but I still think about that phone call often.