Occasionally, something resembling a profound thought lands on the brain.

People go to great lengths for this kind of enlightenment – a monk may spend months in solitude, a philosopher may pour over books and a thinker sits naked, chin resting on a closed fist.

But in Charleston, a profound thought can happen any time – like over a few pitchers of beer at The Panther Paw on a Monday night. (And no, the thought wasn’t ‘Wow, I’m an alcoholic.’)

For a class, I was required to attend the taping of “Panther Sports Talk,” which tapes at 7 p.m. at ‘The Tavern Formerly Known as Stix’ every Monday night.

This is what qualifies as an “easy” homework assignment. Go to the bar, order a drink, get a burger and learn – simple.

The reason attendance is mandatory is the class’s instructor is also the show’s host – sports information director David Kidwell.

Through my year or so covering Panther athletics for The Daily Eastern News, I’ve developed a professional relationship with him.

But one thing has always weighed on my mind in dealing with him – what do I call him.

Other sports writers say either “Kidwell” or “Dave,” and I suppose these are logical choices.

However, I never felt all right with calling him by his first name or just his last name – out of respect.

Kidwell has been sports information director for 32 years. I hesitate to call him one of my “elders,” but let’s be honest he’s elder than I am.

My instinct tells me “Mr. Kidwell” would be the way to go. I use the Mr. or Mrs. title whenever my parents introduce me to one of their friends. I call my neighbors Mr. or Mrs. I refer to my friends’ parents in the same way.

It’s how I say the name of virtually every person over the age of 30 that I encounter – doctors, professors and MILFs aside.

Anyway, I digress.

After the show finished taping, a few friends and I sat at a table, drinking, smoking and talking (the trilogy). Mr., I mean, professor, um, whatever-title-is-appropriate Kidwell came by our table, making some small talk about the show.

While we were talking, someone from the table offered to fill what’s-his-title’s glass from our pitcher. He accepted, sat down and joined the conversation.

An hour or so later, he had entered our pitcher-buying rotation, even buying an extra.

We sat and laughed, each voicing our opinions while 32-years of athletic-administrative experience sat and listened to each of us equally.

And after I left that night, the profound thought finally surfaced. We all sat and talked to each other as equals.

Despite his age and experience, I realized I should call him Dave and not Mr. Kidwell – not out of a lack of respect, but because of it.

College, more than anything, is about transition. Previously, I had only referred to adults by their first names if they specifically asked.

But, during my time in school (all 13 years), more often, I find myself calling adults “Dave,” “Ruth” or “Gunther.”

It’s what I did interning with people all older than me.

The more I think about, the more sense is starts to make.

As college prepares people for transition into adulthood, people do more adult-like things. One of these things is calling “elders” by their first names.

It’s just strange that it took a few drinks on a weeknight to help me figure out that I was growing up.