October 14, 2011. A leather-clad coach Bill Self rode into Late Night at the Phog, center court in Allen Fieldhouse, on a custom-designed motorcycle to usher in a new season of Kansas basketball.

He made two things very clear that night. One, I should immediately invest in a pair of leather chaps for my husband, and two, we needed to be realistic about our expectations this year and just enjoy watching this new team grow.

Well, as of this point, I have yet to see my husband in leather chaps, but I have very much enjoyed watching this team grow.

I have enjoyed watching fellow Bishop Miege High School alumnus Travis Releford make his mark. I have enjoyed watching Connor Teahan move from bench to court and watching Tyshawn Taylor and Elijah Johnson save me from cardiac arrest at the end of our closest games. And who among us hasn’t watched with awe as Thomas Robinson slowly but surely regained the glow in his smile that was stripped away so suddenly last year?

I have enjoyed watching the “MIZ-ZOU”s fade from my Facebook newsfeed these past weeks and enjoyed the front page photos of our team, our guys we have grown to love for simply agreeing with us that there is no better jersey to wear than that of our century-old Jayhawks.

The fan in me has delighted in every exciting moment, just like I did in ’88 when my parents piled 14 people into their minivan and rushed us to the Plaza in time to high-five Danny and the Miracles as they exited the bus from Kemper Arena. And just like I did in ’91 when Kansas again made it to the championship game (except this time I did not get a tattoo). And again in ’93, ’02, ’03 and in ’08 when I continued the tradition of over-stuffing a minivan and partying downtown like it was 1988.

But the mother in me worries my children are too spoiled by this chronic success to really understand it. They watch us cheer over each game, happy the good guys are winning but, I fear, missing the real magnitude of each win throughout the dance.

They don’t know what a rare triumph it is to move from 64 to just four, and they certainly don’t appreciate the way each game takes us away from the stresses of our days.

But we do.

We know that, in an instant, everything that is right-side-up in our world can be turned upside-down. And we know that when an unexpected occasion for unbridled celebration suddenly arises, we are drawn to that joy like the hungry to a banquet.

Someday my kids will look around at the world with eyes that revere the beauty in a group of young overachievers marching to New Orleans against expectations, giving Jayhawks worldwide a reason to wave the wheat.

But until then, I am going to follow coach Self’s advice and just enjoy watching them grow.