A well-rounded FSU student exhibits mastery of balancing school, work and social endeavors, all while keeping in touch with family back home. Some do it because last time they were in class and didn’t pick up their mother’s phone call, she called FSUPD claiming they were dead. Others do it because their dad is financially responsible for their meals and Bajas cover. Whatever the reason may be, students are all united by their father’s undying curiosity if they’ve run into Steve’s son, CJ, yet who also goes to FSU.
“You remember Carl James Susmann, he goes by CJ for short? You were on the same little league team when you were still in diapers. Steve Susmann is his old man. He was involved in that wheelbarrow racing tragedy. You remember him right?” inquired Keith Laurent as he swirled his brandy glass so loudly it could be heard over the phone by his son, freshman finance major Ryan Laurent. “You haven’t seen him in fourteen years, but when Steve told me he was accepted, I just knew I would have to pester you about recognizing someone that you met when you were an infant on a campus of 30,000 people.”
“I forgot my ID to get into my building, my keys, my entire backpack and my socks when I left for class this morning. I sure as hell don’t remember my dad’s friend’s son from back when my brain was functioning at one sixteenth of the rate it is now,” retorted Ryan Laurent, realizing he was sitting in a stranger’s dorm room in Degraff East and not his room in Degraff West. “I didn’t want to disappoint my dad, but I really had to put my foot down when he suggested I look up CJ in The Yellow Pages and show him where to go on campus when the bell rings.”
After wandering aimlessly around campus shouting “CJ!” at every freshman with a bad haircut, we finally found CJ based off of the several wallet photos his father provided us. “Ryan Laurent? Yeah, I remember Ryan from all the baby pictures my dad has of us together. There was one where we were both in our diapers in my backyard sharing a popsicle. I actually have really fond memories of that. No homo though,” he reminisced before turning off read receipts so he could continue ignoring his dad’s updates on every male athletic team at Florida State. The two dads are scheduled to have a playdate at the driving range where they will have a competitive conversation about whose son fucks the most before going home to tell their daughters they can’t wear those jeans with the holes in them.