D. None of the Above: A stream of consciousness from the first college parent’s weekend with our son
By Daniel Dunaief
Flying? Are we really flying? Well, sure, why not, right? Everyone else is flying.
Wait, then again, everyone else seems to be flying. What if one of those other people is sick? Don’t think too much about it and breathe through your nose. Oh, you can’t because the two masks you’re wearing are pinching your nose? Well, tough!
They’re serving drinks and cookies? People have to lower their masks to eat and drink, right? So, doesn’t that defeat the purpose of mandatory masks? Look away from everyone who’s breathing. Yeah, that’ll help.
Okay, finally, we’re on the ground.
Hey, this is a nice campus. The sidewalks are packed and filled with so much energy, not all of which is positive.
“Why are all these $#@! parents here this weekend? I have several tests and I don’t need them all staring at me!”
That girl is sharing her academic anxiety with her friend and anyone else within 100 feet of her. Subtle, real subtle! Tempted as I am to let her know that parents, likely including her own, make this sometimes miserable experience possible, I refrain. She might be my son’s current or future friend.
I ask two students for the location of a building. The first shrugs and points me in the wrong direction and the second nearly draws a map. Okay, one for two.
I sit just in time for the start of a talk by successful alumni, who connect their careers to the lessons they learned at school. Clever marketing! Other parents chuckle at the jokes. I imagine these parents as college students. In my mind, the presenters onstage become Broadway performers. Each of the two men and two women, which I presume is a well-planned balance of genders, does his or her rendition of “how I succeeded,” with the subtext, just feet from the school president, of, “keep paying those tuitions!”
When the session ends, the phone rings. It’s my son! He’s strolling across a lawn. Wait, is that really him? Much as I want to run over and squeeze him, I play it cool, congratulating myself on my impulse control. Well done, Dan. You haven’t embarrassed him so far, but the weekend is young yet, even if you are not. He adjusts his hair, a move I’ve seen him and almost all his friends do frequently, even while running back and forth on a basketball court. What’s with all the hair adjustment? I quietly ask for permission to hug him. Yay! He agrees. I wrap my arms around his shoulders and fight the urge to pick him up, which is probably best for my back.
As we head to his dorm, he tells me he hasn’t done laundry in nine days. I don’t know whether that’s a hint, as in, “Dad, while you’re here…” or a statement of fact.
We part company and I learn about the evolving world of the commercialization of college athletes, who can use their name, image and likeness to make money. He’s listening to a psychology lecture about, who else, Sigmund Freud.
At a football game, I wonder how it can be this cold in Louisiana. Aren’t we in the deep south? We leave before it’s over, waiting in the cool air for 11 minutes for an expensive Uber — they must know it’s parents weekend — to take two families who are heading back to the same hotel.
10 pm. Who eats this late? I’m usually half way to sleep by now. My older brother is undoubtedly already in REM sleep. My stomach is going to hate this. Shut up stomach!
Looking around the table at these families, one thing is clear: these parents adore their children.
This is part of the story of how these boys got here and, hopefully, will help them continue to learn lessons, like how to dress for a cold football game and how to make reservations in advance before a busy parents weekend so we can eat earlier.
