A good place to start in this epic journey of lions (besides Siegfried down there) is the mascot for my school: Reggie the Lion.
I’m using the term “mascot” as loosely as possible, because the dictionary tells me “mascot” means something that “brings good luck” and I think we can all agree that there’s nothing good about this whatsoever.
I walked past this every day for months before someone told me it was our mascot, and, frankly, I was shocked. I had assumed that it was some kind of papier mache project made by special ed children, possibly displayed by the Department of Education.
But no: It’s a sculpture! That the institution paid money for!*
Trust me, I’m as surprised as anyone.
It’s hard to narrow down my favorite quality of dear Reggie. The lumpy texture that belies some kind of terrible skin condition? The incongruently Asiatic influence, giving a strange aura of imperialism to our stairway? The fact that it was not only made by someone who had never seen a lion before, but possibly someone who is, in fact, blind?
Ah, Reggie…the pride I feel when I walk by your noble form.
*granted, not a lot of money. Nevertheless...