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RING DAY
10.09.2026
Photos by Yuki Soda — THE BATTALION
Making Aggies’ days pitcher perfect Shay Kerbel ‘25 creates personal mementos for Aggies earning their golden bling By Kynlee Joyner Managing Editor The Aggie War Hymn plays, as a crowd of people fix their eyes on the figure in front of them. Her head is tilted back as her friends and family record, encouraging her to drink faster. The only thing standing between her and her Aggie Ring is a dreaded 60 ounces of beer. But as she chugs, the glass catches the light from above, ever-so-slightly highlighting the white vinyl atop the pitcher — a pitcher handcrafted by another. Shay Kerbel ‘25 is anything but simple. From maintaining three jobs throughout her time in Aggieland to taking on an accelerated nursing program post graduation, Kerbel’s day-to-day schedule is not full of free time. However, in the small moments in between the hectic bustle of her day, she finds solace at home with her Cricut in front of her. “I just pulled out my Cricut one day,” Kerbel said. “I started just making sweatshirts and T-shirts for girls in my sorority, and then I was like, ‘I want to do more than just this.’” As Kerbel prepared to receive her Aggie Ring, her creative mind began to wonder. It was then that she turned her sights to Blue Moon Design Company — an Aggie-owned, custom ring dunk pitcher business. Originally created and owned by Sydney Wallach ‘23, Blue Moon Design Company was founded in order to bring life to Texas A&M students’ ring dunks through adding unique twists to their pitchers. The two connected, becoming business partners before Kerbel took sole ownership upon Wallach’s graduation. “Sydney one day just pulled out her Cri-
cut, just like myself, and was like, ‘Okay, I’ll be creative,’” Kerbel said. “She started making pitchers for her friends, and then it turned into custom pitchers, because no one in 2020 was making pitchers.” When Kerbel stepped into the partnership, she can’t ignore that it started with a soft spot of her own in regards to personalized items. “I love customized things,” Kerbel said. “ … I had personalized things for myself … and because of that, I was like, ‘Okay, I don’t want a boring glass pitcher.’” But Kerbel didn’t have hopes of simply adding names or polka dots to the glasses. To her, it was important that the pitcher adequately represent the person behind it. “I want it to symbolize some achievement from Texas A&M and show involvement in every student,” Kerbel said. “ … There’s so much more to a pitcher than you earning 90 hours. There are so many things a student was involved in throughout those 90 hours. … Everyone has a different story … but I really wanted it to symbolize the student.” During her time at A&M, Kerbel played many roles. She maintained a busy work schedule while completing no less than 18 hours a semester, even serving as vice president of her sorority. Her pivotal time at A&M, especially as a first-generation Aggie, set the tone for her determination and her vision behind what pitchers and Aggie Ring Day mean to students. “I always wanted to be involved and make A&M a part of my lifelong story,” Kerbel said. “I have a really strong desire of helping people and celebrating people, and I think just seeing people accomplish something and then it almost giving them the strive to continue going and finish out that last 30 hours.” Transitioning into full-time owner of Blue Moon Design Company, Kerbel aimed to truly represent each Aggie in this pivotal moment. While starting small, it didn’t take long for the business to take off, now bringing in hundreds of orders each semester as students prepare to celebrate their achievement.
In the fall of 2025, Kerbel completed 279 orders for students, now having completed a grand total of 1,791 pitchers. Despite the ever-climbing number of completed designs, Kerbel said she’ll never forget the feeling of receiving her very first request. “That was really surreal,” Kerbel said. “ … Once I got that order in, I was like, ‘Oh my gosh, this is real. People actually like the idea of wanting a custom pitcher.’ And I was really excited, because it’s something that I’m so passionate about, and I was glad that my passion could also benefit other people.” Since taking over the business, Kerbel pinpointed her favorite part as seeing people’s reac-
tions when they see their vision come to life. Now tackling a new endeavor as a student at Baylor School of Nursing, Kerbel’s time for the business has undergone a shift. However, the commitment has not made her passion for the business waiver. Kerbel noted that her dreams of treating patients has not clouded her love for the business operated out of the comfort of her home. Instead, it’s only made her think further. As popularity of ring dunk pitchers continues to grow — Kerbel even completing orders for students attending Tarleton and Arkansas — she hopes that one day the company might venture out of the confines of her home and into a venue of its own. And when people question her time constraints or the future of her business post-graduation, Kerbel rests assured that Blue Moon Design Company is not leaving her hands anytime soon. “Typically I’ll be working three days a week, but I really want to dedicate those other four days in the week … to Blue Moon; I really want to grow and establish it even more,” Kerbel said. “ … If I was like absolutely crazy and partnered with A&M in a way and partnered with other people, it would be a dream to have a store front one day. … So there’s some big goals and dreams, but I like to dream big.”
RING DAY
10.09.2026
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Photos by Michaela Rush — THE BATTALION
Photo by Ashely Bautista — THE BATTALION
Photo by Ashely Bautista — THE BATTALION
Photo by Ashely Bautista — THE BATTALION
Clockwise from top left: Families enter the Clayton W. Williams Alumni Center for Ring Day on Friday, Sept. 23, 2022. Student shows off her ring and poses for a photo with a friend during Aggie Ring Day on Thursday, April 9, 2026. Student hugs friend during Aggie Ring Day on Thursday, April 9, 2026. Student hugs his mom after putting on his ring during Aggie Ring Day on Thursday, April 9, 2026.
Giving back to Aggie community, ring by ring ‘It’s just a wonderful experience’: Raeann Stevens’ connection to Aggie Ring Day By Tanner Brown Associate Design and Graphics Editor Raeann Stevens has never worn an Aggie Ring. Still, the golden symbol is just as sacred to her as it is any other student at Texas A&M. A graduate from Lubbock Christian University, Stevens is one of the few volunteers presenting over 4,700 Aggie Rings this fall who does not don one herself. With a husband, daughter, nieces and nephews who are all Aggies, she is no stranger to what the ring means. Stevens and her husband moved to the area from Houston four years ago. While this was mostly to be close to their daughter, who works for the College of Veterinary Medicine at A&M, she also was compelled to help Aggies directly. “I love students, and I just wanted to be around the [them] all the time and help, however I am led to help,” Stevens said. “For me personally, I feel like all of these kids are my kids, and I know the hard work and determination it takes.”
Stevens had been helping students at A&M even before putting down roots in Aggieland. She and her husband, Michael T. Stevens ‘88, created the Raeann and Michael T. Stevens ‘88 Endowed Aggie Ring Scholarship to help students in the animal science program cover the cost of their ring. It was this scholarship that tied Stevens more intricately to the Aggie community. “At first I was coming back to give our ring scholarship to our recipient,” Stevens said. “But then I just said, ‘I’ve got to do more.’” The Stevens became deeply involved with the Aggie Ring Program, maintaining their scholarship as well as regularly volunteering to hand out rings to students every year. As she prepares for her fourth year volunteering at Aggie Ring Day this fall, Stevens is just as eager to make a difference as she had been her first time. “I would tell [them], ‘What can I do? I’ll come every shift if that’s what you need,’” Stevens said. “Just because it gives me such great joy to give back to what this school has already given to us and our family.” As a former teacher and an Aggie parent, Stevens understands the unique challenges each student faces through their studies. To her, Ring Day is just a small fraction of student’s dedication. “To see that even those who’ve struggled to get there are just as happy as the ones
The Battalion Ava Loth Editor-in-Chief
Kynlee Joyner Managing Editor David Swope
Maeva Elizabé
Tanner Brown
Ian Curtis
News Editor
Opinion Editor
Design & Graphics Editor
Senior Enterprise Reporter
Emily Anderson
Wyatt Pickering
Julius Sjolie
Kynlee Joyner
Associate News Editor
Associate Opinion Editor
Social Media Editor
Business Manager
Sophia Muñoz
Trey Bohne
Rocio Salgado
Tiffany Vasquez
Life & Arts Editor
Associate Sports Editor
Photo Chief
Business Manager
Adhithi Shankar
Brody Vaughn
Steve Carrasco IV
Sara E. Gonzales
Associate Life & Arts Editor
Associate Sports Editor
Photo Chief
Associate Director of Student Media
The Battalion is published Thursdays in Fall 2026 (except university holidays and exam periods) at Texas A&M University, College Station, TX 77843. Offices are in Suite L400 of the Memorial Student Center. The Battalion is managed by students at Texas A&M University in Student Media, a unit of the Division of Student Affairs. Newsroom Phone: 979-845-3315 Email: editor@thebatt.com Website: http://www.thebatt.com Advertising: Publication of advertising does not imply sponsorship or endorsement by The Battalion. For campus, local and national display advertising, email battads@thebatt.com. Office hours are 8 a.m. to 5 p.m. Monday through Friday.
it was easy for,” Stevens said. “I can imagine what they are about to go into and accomplish, because of their perseverance and determination. It’s just a wonderful experience.” Throughout the years, the reactions from the thousands of students she has handed a ring to has never seemed to get old. As each moment stands different from the next, they all showcase the same excitement for the ring enclosed in the tiny maroon box. “To watch their hands shake and to see that joy … it just means everything to me,” Stevens said. “I’ve cried with kids, I’ve laughed with them. To hand them that ring and explain things to them, it’s like no other.” Some of the most memorable moments volunteering have been giving first generation students their Aggie Rings. “There have been several times where the student has said, ‘I’m the first one [in my family] to go to college, and my parents are going to present this ring,’” she said. “The love and the joy that you see on those parents’ faces as they are giving that ring to their child … it just means everything. And I love seeing that.” Stevens recalled a memory in her time as a volunteer when a student, who had just received her ring, dad unexpectedly told Stevens to wait. The student’s mother had attended A&M in the past, but transferred
to attend pharmacy school elsewhere, since A&M didn’t have one. She was unaware she met the required hours to get an Aggie Ring of her own, until her family checked and surprised her with the news. Even the daughter didn’t know it was happening. “It was beautiful,” Stevens said. “I love hearing those stories.” Aside from the small memento of excitement, she describes Aggie Ring Day as something that extends beyond students’ time at A&M. The ring stands as an indicator no matter the time, place or context in which it interlinks all Aggies alike. “I think what I want them to understand is that the Aggie Ring exemplifies something beyond comprehension … it’s almost like they are now a part of an adopted family,” Stevens said. “When you see that ring, you know that [it] is someone that can help you.” While thousands of Aggies each year anticipate the day that they will finally be able to slide on their ring, what comes before and after is what makes the ring all that more worth it. “There’s going to be people all over the world ready to assist,” Stevens said. “I want them to know how important that is, and the perseverance and the work that went behind being able to get that ring.”
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RING DAY
10.09.2026
A ring that speaks for itself
Achieving an Aggie accomplishment of my own By Ava Loth Editor-in-Chief When talking to other Aggies, Texas
A&M felt like something familiar, ever since their first picture as a newborn in a 12th Man jersey. It was something they grew up around and something that they always knew they would eventually become a part of. However, my journey to becoming a part of the Aggie family was one that felt like the complete opposite. In fact, during my
early childhood years it seemed like every other memory I was inside the University Co-op picking out what gaudy burnt-orange t-shirt my Texas Exes mother would buy for me next. But the visits to t.u’s campus were meaningful in the sense that it stood as the one, or several, reasons why I could never imagine calling myself a Longhorn. I never even heard of A&M until my mother, India Loth ‘15, sprung it on us that she was working toward her masters degree online through A&M. This meant my very first time in Aggieland was experienced for an Aggie Ring Day, 12 years ago. I had no clue what I was getting myself into and witnessed the, most debatedly, sacred tradition that Aggies don for the rest of their lives. I watched as she put on a ring that I didn’t understand the significance of, completely unaware I was standing in the same place where one of my biggest accomplishments would eventually happen. Now, 12 years later, I will receive my very own. During the years in between, my two older sisters, Morgan Loth ‘19 and Alyssa Loth ‘20, both received degrees from A&M expanding my opportunity to experience what College Station had to offer. My second-ever Aggie football game was when I was 13 years old standing right alongside my oldest sister on the second deck of the student section for the infamous LSU seven-overtime 74-72 victory. I vividly remember the guy who was standing directly behind us, jokingly asking what year I was and confidently replying with “2027.” While 2027 felt scarily far away in 2018, it feels a bit scarier as it stands a few short months away. When college decision time came around I was distraught over the fact that the university I had loved so deeply for the past several years didn’t choose me. My freshman year of college was spent driving to a different campus for my classes, as I watched the Kyle Field A&M billboard slowly get smaller and smaller in my rearview mirror, wishfully hoping that one day, walking on A&M’s campus would become my normal. On my third application, I finally received the news I had been wanting to hear. The 13-year-old who tirelessly stood the en-
tirety of the seven-OT game was officially a part of A&M’s Class of 2027. Despite my earliest memories of Aggieland being the great milestones and achievements of multiple graduations and Ring Days for my family, I’ve come to learn the quiet moments in between make it that much more special. As much as I may complain about the long, hot walks to class, there isn’t a time I walk past the Academic Plaza that I’m not in awe. And despite the grueling trek to the third deck in 95-degree heat and cowboy boots, there isn’t a time I find myself in Kyle Field on game days and not appreciate the rowdier side of the stadium I get to be on. That simple letter of acceptance was something that finally felt like my own. For so long, A&M had been something I experienced through the people I loved. I watched my sisters and mother walk across the stage and get rings of their own. I stood in Kyle Field beside my sister, long before I knew what it would mean to me to eventually stand there as a student. While those memories were special, they belonged to them, never truly feeling as though they were mine. But slowly, the little things I once wished I could experience have become my everyday routine. The ring stands as more than just a piece of jewelry, more than just a memento of my time at A&M. It represents all the times I felt like taking the easy route and chose a school that had already chosen me. It represents the times it felt daunting to explain my far from narrow path to others and the uncomfortable conversations about why I wasn’t at A&M yet. The applications that didn’t work out and the moments when it would’ve been easier to convince myself that maybe becoming an Aggie wasn’t meant for me. But, for some reason, I kept choosing it. The ring speaks for itself. A reflection of my determination and the detours I endured to get to this point, even when the path wasn’t simple nor easy. Somehow, all the rejection, doubt and uncertainty seems to become a distant memory once I slide the shiny new gold onto my finger.
Moments I would relive in every lifetime Reflecting on precious memories that defined my present By Kynlee Joyner Managing Editor I’m an unreasonable overthinker. To put that into perspective, this is my third, completely new draft of this piece that I have officially re-read 14 times — and that’s before edits. One word that has never been used to describe me is “nonchalant”; even less used is “calm.” This became apparent on a vacation this summer when two of my friends sat me down and told me that rewatching my favorite show 16 times in a year was “concerning” and “a sign of major anxiety.” Yeah, whatever, that’s what my Zoloft is for. The truth is, long before rewatching shows became a crutch for me, it was memories that played on a never-ending loop in my mind. What I’ve found is that there is comfort in knowing the ending. As the only school I applied to, the only certainty I’ve had at Texas A&M was knowing that being in the top 10% would get me in the door. However, since then, it seems as if every day a fire extinguisher — that I don’t know how to use — has been put in my hands as I point it in front of me, just to realize that I was the thing on fire. Suffice it to say, college has been a wild ride. Each route I take seems to create more unpredictability, pushing me further and further away from figuring out what the hell I’m doing here. Thus, I continuously return to the aforementioned memories. It started in 2015 during a visit to see my cousins, Shelby ‘15, Brittani ‘17 and Cameron Orme ‘18. Me, my mom and childhood best friend, Kylie, were staying in their small apartment made up of roadside furniture and a dining room table with one chair — luxury living, am I right? While getting an informal tour of campus, we stumbled upon what, at the time, I coined as “the big tree.” Being a mere 9 years old, Cameron picked Kylie and I up, placing us on a branch to pose for a photo. One second I was looking at my mother, as she cheerily said, “Say cheese!” before a shriek of terror escaped her mouth. It all happened so fast. My head whipped to the left as I saw Kylie’s feet replace where her head had been, falling backward five feet down. The sound of her head hitting the ground filled my mind as I screamed her name. But then, I heard a giggle. And then an-
other. And then a fit of laughter, all coming from Kylie who was covered in mulch and a bigger smile than when we had posed. Rushing to her side, my family eagerly checked her for injury, just to find that after years of being a flyer in competitive cheer, hitting the ground was nothing new to her. Flash forward to 2022, when Brittani and Cameron accompanied my mother and I to our first-ever Aggie football game. If there was ever a time I was anxious, this was it. On the third deck of Kyle Field, the four of us stood as I prepared to watch the A&M football team run out of the tunnel for the very first time. I will never forget the disappointment — and belated embarrassment — of being told that me saying “Whoop” was not allowed, or the look on my mother’s face when the large man beside her put his arm around her as he interlocked their legs and began swaying. She’s still surprised every time this happens. These are the moments I think about when the weight of this university starts to take hold, and the doubt of the future becomes too much to bear alone. Because when I look back on these experiences, I realize that I’ve never taken on this journey solo — I’ve always had support from afar, reminding me to find joy and laughter in the precious moments. When my ring is placed on my finger by Brittani and Cameron for the first time, it will be yet another reminder of the people that got me to this point, and the memories that will forever remain within the confines of the small gold symbol on my right hand. Each time I walk by the Century Tree — although why not walk under it since my eternity of solitude is already promised? — or stand in 98-degree weather on third deck, the anxious flames begin to die down. Not because the spirit of Aggieland is coursing through my veins or the KoolAid has cooled me down from the blazing sun above, but because I know the people that I share these memories with are with me every step of the way. Truth is, I never needed a metal can of gas to calm the raging fire that is my life at A&M. All along, I’ve had everything I needed in the people that led me to this point. Cousins that push me past my limits and clean up all the tears afterward; parents that show me a love one can only dream of and that support me, even if that means putting their arms around a large and sweaty man during the war hymn; and a friend who may be far in distance but never far from my heart. Maybe reveling in past moments isn’t the best coping mechanism for anxiety, but those moments are what make this ring so special, and I would choose to relive them in every single lifetime.
10.09.2026
RING DAY
A5
Trust me, I’m working on it Finding my meaning through a whole lot of journal entries, headlines and comic strips By David Swope News Editor As I sit down to write this, I wish to be completely honest with everyone who chooses to henceforth read on: absolutely none of the following was planned. This was done on a time crunch in which I could have easily avoided; partly due to extenuating circumstances — law school supplementals — and the fact I did not know what I wanted to write about. If you do not enjoy such stream of consciousness writing, I implore you not to read any further. I also implore you not to try reading any James Joyce. Even I did not like it. Of course, none of this is born out of the fact that I do not place great importance on Ring Day and my achievement in finally making it to this right of passage. In fact, this could not be further from the truth. No one in my immediate family went to Texas A&M. I actually spent a great deal of my time growing up in a city that shall not be named, as my brother attended a school that shall also not be named. So when I was applying to university, it seemed that a lot of people were surprised to hear I did not wish to attend this aforementioned bovine-adjacent institution. The truth was, I did not even plan on applying. A&M was the only school on my list that I had any legitimate interest in. So, when I got my acceptance back in September of my senior year, I did not just drink the Kool-Aid. I went to Walmart, bought out their stock, grabbed a 100-gallon fish tank and dunked my head into it. It was the first time in my life ever wearing an A&M shirt and watching Aggie football, but it came exceedingly naturally. My college career going forward has been a wonderfully smooth and enjoyable ride, for all intents and purposes. I sometimes wish I had undergone more trials and tribulations, both in the sense that perhaps I would have changed for the better and perhaps had more to write about today, but the stone-cold truth is that this is not the case. I have found a great group of friends, had the opportunity to make my mark at an amazing institution like The Battalion, witnessed our 2025 football season and even had a high school sweetheart by my side all
the way. Thus, if you want to hear something wonderfully beautiful and eloquent about the sentimental value behind a person’s ring, it is probably best you go to another one of these stories. If you are reading this on our paper issue, you can avert your gaze a couple inches up, down, left or right. If you are reading this online, you can click that back arrow in the top left of your browser. Of course, though, there are a million things and people that I cannot mention or thank in the 900-word limit I have been given for this story. To all of the wonderful people at The Battalion, thank you for giving me the opportunity to become such an integral part of something much bigger than myself. To all of my friends and fami-
ly, thank you for being the support network that made all of this possible in the first place. And to all of the football programs that have brought sadness and despair to College Station, my thoughts are better left unsaid. One of my guiding principles in life is relatively simple: you never do anything alone. It is one that, admittedly, is rather annoying and difficult for some people to come to accept. I understand, and even empathize, with this. After all, we do live in perhaps one of the most individualistic countries in the world. But I think to stand up, proclaim your achievements and scream from the rooftops how you “did it all yourself ” is a gross and negligent disservice to the people around you. Whatever it is you did, and however alone in the world you may feel,
someone out there did something today that impacted your life. Someone out there did something that changed the trajectory of your day, no matter how small it may be. Maybe they stepped on a butterfly. Maybe, as a result, dinosaurs will come back in a couple of decades. Hey, they should name an effect after that! So, when people ask me what Ring Day means to me, I am afraid I am not sure what exactly they expect to hear. There is really no single answer: maybe it is the late hours in the newsroom, the fun I have had exploring Bryan-College Station, the experiences I have been so lucky to be a part of. Maybe, just maybe, the real Ring Day is the friends we made along the way. I digress.
Thank you to my family who came before me Stepping into a legacy I am grateful to be a part of By Emily Anderson Associate News Editor Like many, I’ve been impatiently waiting since my freshman year to get this ring. I’ve felt that little tinge of jealousy seeing an upperclassman sporting theirs boldly on their right hand. I’ve stood for countless photos with a “Gig ‘em” pose, missing a crucial part of that signature thumbs-up. I’ve tried on my mom’s ring — on my pinky because my hands are way bigger than hers — and admired my grandmother’s ring that is so worn down from wear over the years that it’s almost unrecognizable, wishing it were already time to get my own. This ring isn’t just a piece of gold to flex, though. This ring is part of a legacy which I get to carry into its third generation. My grandparents, ‘75 and ‘76, met at an A&M football game, set up on a blind date. My grandmother, my Oma, has bled maroon since then, enough to inspire her three sons, one of them my father, to attend A&M as well. Then, her three sons all decided to also do the right thing and married an Aggie. Growing up, the Aggie Spirit was inescapable. All the Aggies in my family — which encompasses my entire lineage — have a stocking at my Oma’s house, displayed over the fireplace every year at Christmas. I always wanted my own, but I was told I had to graduate first. Maybe now that I have my ring they’ll get me my own. My cousins and I played “Aggie-opoloy,” the kool-aid drinking version of Monopoly, when we got together at my grandparents’ house. I knew about Northgate and the Dixie Chicken before I even knew what a college application was. I got to experience A&M’s campus every summer starting in eighth grade, when my Oma and my mother would bring me here for my contests at the Texas State 4-H Round-Up. I will never forget walking across the stage at Reed Arena after placing in the top three in Ag Product Identification, and then seeing that same stage years later at my first Breakaway attendance. When I came to A&M as a student myself, it became even clearer to me how
being an Aggie had impacted the lives of my family members and how precious our shared experiences truly are. I will admit that hearing “back when we went here this was … ” or “none of this used to be here … ” 500 times every time my parents come to visit may get tiring — especially when my dad insists that “this road used to go through!” when trying to drive us somewhere in town — but seeing Aggieland through their eyes will always be special to me. When I talked to my Oma and Pop-pop shortly after my first semester at A&M started, complaining about how old Heldenfels Hall was, I was kindly informed that Heldenfels was almost brand-new when they took biology classes there. Sorry Oma and Pop-pop, y’all are still young in spirit. When I started a job working for the dorms on campus and learned Krueger Hall’s affectionate nickname, “Krusty Krueger,” Oma reminded me that when she lived in Krueger Hall, Dunn Hall was the only other part of The Commons that had been constructed. And when I complained about how hot it was walking to class in August, Pop-pop reminisced on his time in Walton Hall, before it had air conditioning. I love these stories because they help me understand how my grandparents and parents paved the way for me to get to study at this great university. My Pop-pop was the first person, and Oma was the first woman, in their families to attend college. When Oma moved into Krueger Hall, it was the first year women were allowed to live on campus. Oma told me how she saved up money all throughout high school, making $1.50 an hour to pay for her tuition, which was $4 a credit hour in the ‘70s. My mom worked three jobs her junior year of college while taking 18 hours a semester to be able to pay for school. When I told Pop-pop that I was ordering my ring, he remembered when he and Oma paid $93 and $63 for their rings at the Coke Building. So to me, Krueger isn’t just Krusty Krueger, and Heldenfels isn’t just an old building where I had to wake up for an 8 a.m. biology lab and this ring isn’t just a ring. It’s a connection to my Aggie-loving family and a symbol to remind me to always have gratitude for the opportunities I have had because of them.
RING DAY
A6
10.09.2026
It feels like God threw me a bone A ring that wouldn’t be mine without the help from others By Sophia Muñoz Life & Arts Editor Seven years ago, I was a freshman in high school and already bracing myself for the possibility of not being able to go to college at all. It was disappointing, sure, but I used to think it was written in stone. As far as I could tell, the only kinds of people who went had a dream college and major picked out from the womb. Meanwhile, there were people like me who only pretended to know what a major was and totally didn’t only find out during her five-year plan project in ninth grade. So it is truly by some miracle to me that I am here now. The fact is, though, it wasn’t on my own account. And my miracles came in the forms of a pencil-thwacking tutor and the human embodiment of a warm hug. My older sister, Julie Muñoz ‘22, was the first in our family to go to college and rightfully so, because anyone in my family would tell you she is the smartest. I remember Julie being my tutor for many of my early math classes, and it was her sitting at the kitchen table frustratingly trying to explain algebraic equations to sixth-grade me. But time after time, Julie was always ready for another tutoring session at the kitchen table, because at her core that’s who she’s always been: someone who doesn’t give up on people she loves. And when I began to accept the fact college may have been out of the cards for me, it was also Julie giving me the rundown on how college entrance exams worked. The summer after my sophomore year of high school, she took me to tour colleges across Texas. Stepping foot onto those campuses, the college dream finally felt real and tangible. She pointed to dining halls, dormitories and libraries across campuses and said things like, “Imagine you get the all-you-can-eat dining pass,” “When you pick your dorm, don’t room somewhere with communal showers” and “You can study here with your friends.” Julie seldom
says things she doesn’t mean, and is never one to hold back her honest opinions. So her matter-of-fact tone got me to finally picture myself as a student, and it was the first time college no longer felt like a dream I had to inherit. After smuggling myself back into the top 10% of my high school class, I chose Texas A&M because I admired how it only enhanced some of my sister’s key traits — her strength, independence and ambition — and I would be lying if I said the Aggie Ring didn’t at least play a small factor. Sue me. But getting here doesn’t mean the selfdoubt ever went away; it creeps in at the slightest inconveniences, making me question if I really belong here and what makes me any more worthy of this opportunity than the generations before me. But the cure for me in these moments will always be a call home. My mom always picks up at her desk working, outside gardening or in the kitchen making dinner. The warm, ambient glow of our home and her reassuring words never fails to soothe my stress. We talk about how her plants are doing, what is new with our extended family and what movies we’ve recently seen. I never usually outright say it, but as soon as she gets an inkling that I am beginning to doubt myself or sense I am overwhelmed, she always starts to say how proud she is of me and my siblings, and how capable she knows we all are. Her calls are a warm reminder that I am never facing this alone, and she will always be cheering me on even from miles away. It doesn’t matter that my mom never experienced going to college, because I know given my circumstances, she would have been in my position, too. I don’t often consider myself to be a lucky person, but God threw me a bone when he gave me my mom and Julie. There is no possible way I could have made it here on my own, much less finish 90-plus credit hours at a university that is slowly starting to indoctrinate me. Julie, thank you for always being the one who pushes me past what I think possible of myself. Mom, thank you for always being there to remind me to take a step back and realize I have what it takes. I love you both, and this Aggie Ring is as much yours as it is mine.
Home isn’t found, it’s made 3 years ago, I chose Texas A&M, and I would do it all over again By Adhithi Shankar Associate Life & Arts Editor Year after year, I watched seniors trickle out of my high school and into the University of Texas at Austin, the University of Texas at Dallas and Texas A&M. Texas, Texas, Texas. It was as if before walking the stage at graduation, almost everyone had randomly spun a wheel with only three schools on it. Not me, though. I was a bright-eyed 17-year-old with fantastical dreams of packing my bags and heading north or east or west or anywhere but south, walking to classes among the lush green walkways of Chapel Hill, North Carolina, the pleasant climate of the Bay Area or the hustle and bustle of Manhattan. I had never moved before. My father immigrated from Tamilnadu, India, to Arlington for his master’s degree in the ‘90s, and my family decided to settle in Texas permanently. My whole life, from birth to high school graduation, was spent in a red brick house near a cul-de-sac in Flower Mound, a suburb of Dallas where, in my
teenage opinion, nothing worth doing was within walking distance of my home, and the weather was only tolerable for an hour per day. Often, I closed my eyes and pictured how it would feel to board a flight to a far-off university, waving goodbye through the window to my family and friends who would “oooh” and “ahhh” at my trailblazing spirit. Week after week, I submitted applications to Pitt, Duke and Penn State. In one of these places, I thought maybe I would find the excitement and sense of belonging that I had never really felt in Texas. But the wheel was always spinning in the back of my mind. UT Austin. UT Dallas. A&M. I preemptively paid housing deposits and applied for Honors and scholarships at all three. Just in case. When I got the unexpected call that I had been accepted into the scholarship of my dreams at A&M, I knew without a doubt what school my wheel had just landed on. It was months before I would hear back from any of the out-of-state schools I had spent hours and hours perfecting my applications for, but in that moment, I knew none of it mattered. My future was leading me deeper into the heart of Texas. I was filled with immense gratitude, but also a sense of longing for what could have been as I waved goodbye to the 49 states in which I would never attend school, clicked the “Accept Admis-
sion” button and started to prepare for my new life four hours south in College Station. I did board a plane that summer, though not to move to college. My scholarship came with the incredible privilege of a leadership development trip abroad to London, York and Edinburgh, so I took the 10 hour flight to the United Kingdom with 40 other incoming Aggies — at first, complete strangers to me — for 2 1/2 weeks of networking, exploring and immersing ourselves in U.K. culture. While chatting and walking along the ruins of a castle in Edinburgh, our tour group came across an older local gentleman wearing a maroon hat and a shiny gold ring on his right hand, emblazoned with an eagle and shield. “Wait, that’s an Aggie Ring,” another student whispered to the group. What? On a Scottish guy? The local, realizing we were incoming freshmen at his own alma mater, whooped and grinned at us warmly. But I couldn’t take my eyes off his ring. It struck me that after graduating, no matter where I was in the world, I would be wearing one of those. And in that moment, I had never looked forward to anything more. Fast forward to the present, and I’m finally getting my own Aggie Ring. Everything I dreamt of as an ambitious teen — from the excitement of starting my twenties to find-
ing my people — I have experienced in this very city and state. I chose Texas and I’ve never regretted it, not even for a minute. These past two years at A&M have made me realize that the feeling of “being home” isn’t found, it’s made. It’s made by showing up for the community, whether that’s at Midnight Yell, Silver Taps or Muster. It’s made by surviving 100 degree weather and standing shoulder-to-shoulder with fellow Aggies in the deafening stands of Kyle Field, rooting for our favorite team. It’s made by the countless hours spent with friends in Zachry and the Emerging Technologies Building during the lectures, labs, study sessions and office hours that earned me the right to wear my Aggie Ring. Who knows where I’ll be 10, 20 or 30 years down the line. Maybe on the East or West Coast like my 17-year-old self had longingly envisioned. Maybe somewhere in Europe, like the former student we had fatefully encountered that day in Scotland. Maybe even back in that red brick house near the cul-de-sac in Flower Mound. But the present is the present; Ring Day is here, and the most important people in my life are by my side. And while surrounded by the people I love, maroon and white everywhere, and the buzz of a decades-long tradition in the air, I know Texas is right for me.
10.09.2026
RING DAY
A7
Making my Aggie story my own way Forget following legacy: Practicing journalism at Texas A&M is about betting on yourself By Ian Curtis Senior Enterprise Reporter Growing up in College Station as an — eventual — fourth-generation Aggie, a lot of folks assumed that me attending Texas A&M was inevitable. I’ve always hated that. Sure, I grew up fully drinking the maroon Kool-Aid: Watching Billy Kennedy’s men’s basketball team play at Reed Arena with my dad, and having lunchroom debates about Kellen Mond’s quarterbacking ability that would put even the finest philosophers or The Battalion’s opinion columnists to shame. But when I discovered that I wanted to go into journalism professionally, I was confronted with a sobering reality. At the time, A&M had no fully-fledged journalism major after it was eliminated in 2004. The safe choice was the University of Missouri. One of the oldest journalism schools in the world, and a pipeline to newsrooms across the nation. I had a partial scholarship, and it felt like that was almost any journalists’ first option. But A&M provided something else. Not only was it the pragmatic choice financially — I’d be lying if I said that didn’t play a role — but it was a place where I could bet on myself. As former editor-in-chief of The Battalion Michaela Rush ‘23 put it when I visited the newsroom as a senior in high school: “Those other places, like Texas’ newspaper, The Daily Texan? They have a full-time staff and support system. Here? It’s just us.” So, I elected to take a risk and stay home as one of the first freshmen to enroll in A&M’s newly revived journalism major in 2023, and go all-in with a student media program that’s spent decades punching above its weight with fewer resources than its competitors. I can’t say it’s always been a pleasure, as someone who eats, sleeps and breathes journalism, to practice the craft at a school that has not been hospitable to both free speech and student journalism over the years. It’s a reality that I was familiar with going in. I was sitting in my high school physics
class in 2022 when news broke that — as I wrote in my high school paper in 2022 with all of the outrage that 16-year-old me could muster — then-A&M President M. Katherine Banks “walked up to The Battalion and said ‘join us or die,.’” as the university demanded that The Battalion eliminate its print issue and move under the editorial control of the Department of Communication and Journalism. While some of the faces in A&M’s administration have changed — Banks was forced to resign after another journalismrelated blunder by the university, the botched hiring of Kathleen McElroy as the school’s new leader of its journalism program after opposition from the Board of Regents — others have stuck around. And this elephant never forgets. That trust — my trust, at least — is hard to win back after seeing how little the university has respected our craft in the past. While I pray that future generations of student journalists have more institutional support than I’ve experienced, in a way, the lack thereof has made me better off. At Missouri, Texas or any number of fully-fledged journalism schools across America, I would have been shepherded from opportunity to opportunity along with dozens of other equally talented and hard-working students before putting #MizzouMade in my social media bio as I took an entry-level job at a metro newspaper. At A&M, it’s been up to me to find those opportunities on my own, through years of putting my boots on the ground and working my tail off. Of course, that hasn’t come without help from the Aggie Network — both former students and other folks around the university and on the A&M sports beat. When I look down at the ring on my finger, that’s what I’ll think of the most: Those who took valuable time out of their days to help me along the way. I was prepared to list out names before quickly realizing this column would blow past my word count limit if I thanked everyone individually. Guess y’all will just have to wait for my Swan Song for that, when I can finally guilt-trip my editors into letting me write 2,000 words. But to those in Bolton Hall, every press box on campus and in the dreary basement of the MSC, where I’ve probably spent more time than any other single room over the past few years, just know I owe y’all everything. Former managing editor Mathias Culliban ‘26 once told me that he thought of The Battalion as his alma mater, rather
than A&M. I don’t necessarily disagree. A&M has been a place where I’ve been able to prove myself and forge my own legacy rather than following that of my family’s or that of the countless other Bryan-College Station natives to go that route, and I couldn’t have done that without student media. So when I go alone to pick up my Aggie
Ring on Friday morning, it won’t be because it was predestined by my family’s Aggie legacy or by growing up in the shadow of Kyle Field. And when I’m the one to put that ring on my own finger, I’ll know I have made the right choice. Because I earned it myself, at a place it wasn’t easy to earn.
I just got lucky
I wear my Aggie Ring for the people who will never have one By Trey Bohne Associate Sports Editor When I reflect on my senior year at Texas A&M and my impending introduction into the “real world,” I admit it: I’ve been very lucky.
I’ve never had to wonder where my next meal would come from. I’ve never worried about keeping a roof over my head, whether my car would start the next morning or if my paycheck would stretch far enough to make ends meet — aside from my one-year stint in a dirt-cheap College Station apartment, where I did, in fact, worry about all of those things. I grew up in a loving home, surrounded by a family that never failed to remind me how much I was cared for. Today, I have a
beautiful, intelligent girlfriend who has supported me since high school. For most of my life, I thought that was normal. Then I got a part-time job in high school. Like most teenagers, I wasn’t exactly thrilled about the idea of spending my afternoons in the kitchen of a fast food restaurant. It was a job I was told to get, not one I particularly wanted. I’d leave school, clock in, work my shift, clock out. Rinse and repeat. My coworkers were just that: coworkers. People I’d make small talk with between orders and exchange a few laughs with during slow shifts. Nothing more, nothing less. But somewhere along the way, something changed. As high school came to an end, the people I once knew only by their names on the weekly schedule became my closest friends and my inner circle. Suddenly, going to work wasn’t a chore. It was something I looked forward to. I wasn’t excited about cleaning dishes or dealing with customers. I was excited about the people I’d be forced to spend the next several hours with. The same people I’d spend all day joking around with at work became the people I’d call on my day off. We made plans outside of work, shared stories about our lives and formed friendships which — at the time — seemed like they’d last a lifetime. But of course, in fast food, people come and go. Eventually, the familiar faces disappeared from the schedule. Some found better jobs, others moved away and a few simply went down different paths. Though I didn’t realize it at the time, those friendships were teaching me something far more valuable than anything I could have learned at Texas A&M. They taught me how fortunate I was. I met, and was very close with, people who worked harder in a single week than I ever had in my life. People who lived paycheck to paycheck, wondering whether they’d have enough money left over after rent and groceries. People who became parents at 16, forced to grow up before they’d ever really had the chance to “discover” themselves — whatever that means. People who fought tooth and nail for an extra shift, not because they wanted spending money for the weekend — like me —
but because those few extra hours might determine whether they could afford to pay their bills. And then there was me. A high-schoolturned-college student with a loving family, a dependable support system, a high school sweetheart and the privilege of worrying about my next exam. While I stressed about deadlines and grades, wondering which career might “speak to me” after graduation, some of my closest friends were stressing about whether their daughter would have new school supplies or if their mom had gas in her car — if she had a car at all. And while I could afford to make mistakes, stumble and get back on my feet, some of them couldn’t afford to fall in the first place. That’s what my job taught me: not your average LinkedIn profile’s skills of “customer service” or “team collaboration,” but how little I really understood about the world beyond my own. For years, I’d mistaken my circumstances for the standard. I assumed the opportunities I’d been given were the opportunities everyone had, provided they worked hard enough to earn them. But some of the hardest-working people I’ve ever met will never have the opportunity to attend college. Not because they lack the intelligence, ambition or determination to do so, but because life never gave them the luxury of choosing that path. They have responsibilities that can’t wait four years. Bills that can’t be postponed until graduation. And families who depend on them to bring home a paycheck today, not after a study abroad or an unpaid internship. I’ll never forget that realization. Somewhere between the late-night shifts and inside jokes, I realized something. I wasn’t any more deserving of my future than they were. I was simply lucky enough to have the opportunity to pursue it. That’s what my Aggie Ring means to me. For many, it’s a symbol of hard work, perseverance and the years spent earning a degree from A&M — and don’t get me wrong, it means all of those things to me and more. But it’s also a reminder that I’m lucky to be able to chase my degree in the first place.
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