How To Be A Good College Parent

For the past 10 years, save one, I have had a kid in college. So when I saw an article titled "How To Be A Good College Parent," I was intrigued. Education is important in our family. Gerald and I place its value right up alongside faith, family, and friends. Too bad alliteration fails here, and it doesn't begin with an "F," but you get the idea. I remember once when Luke was in 7th grade, he came home and said, "My friend at school told me college isn't required. He says you have to go to high school, but after that, school is optional." My reply: "Oh, your friend is quite mistaken! I wonder where he ever got that crazy idea. College is absolutely required; it's what you do after high school."

So far, they have believed me, and we now have three college graduates with bachelor's degrees, and one with a PhD even! In the article I read, the first rule for being a good college parent is to "think about your parting words," the point being what you say to your child just before he embarks on what will surely be a life-changing experience, matters. I agree. This caused me to reflect back back to the drop-off conversations I've had with my kids, especially when they were just 18 and it was their first time away.

When we took Luke to Whitman College in Walla Walla, WA, I remember climbing up three flights of stairs over and over and over, hauling up all his stuff to his dorm room. This was actually providential for a glazed-eyed mom who had just come from a parents' meeting, where the president of the college had made us all raise our right hands and repeat the words, "I have done my best." Ahhh! If I wasn't already feeling tremendous loss, sending my firstborn off to a college clear on the other side of the state, this little exercise didn't help. But the workout running up and down those stairs helped. It kept me busy. And focused. And purposeful. And too out of breath to cry. When it came time to leave, I looked at Luke and said something woefully unexceptional like "I love you---I know you'll do great," and we drove off. Thinking I had to be brave, I had fought the full-on tears until that point, but then the dam broke. Poor Gerald.

"Think about your parting words." Hmmm. Not so much.

Just one year later, we had moved to Billings, Montana, and it was time to take Shulamith all the way to Salt Lake City to attend Westminster. Now most of you know she and I are best friends. This is not new. Outnumbered 5-2 in the family, it has been she and I against the world for as long as either of us can remember. How in the heck was I supposed to take her 500 miles to a whole different state and then go home without her? Even now I can't believe I did it, and believe me; I didn't do it very well. As far as "parting words," I was such a blubbering idiot, I don't suppose I said anything intelligible. You can read about it here if you want. You may not want to. It's fairly pathetic.

"Think about your parting words." Eeek.

Five years later, it was Isaiah's turn. I was getting a little better at this. Well I thought I was. Plus, Isaiah was so chill about the whole thing (shocking, I know) that I don't think I felt the emotional impact until after he was gone. I found myself longing to do something for him, something so the goodbye would be special. But what? As so often happens with Isaiah, I felt it wasn't as big a deal as it should be, that there wasn't enough excitement or emotion or ????. This was partly because he, too, was going to Westminster, where Shulamith had graduated just one year earlier. I was well familiar with the school, having visited her dozens of times. The newness simply didn't exist. Desperate to do something Isaiah would like, I dashed over to Cheesecake Factory and bought him a piece of his favorite cheesecake. Through the car window, I handed it to him as we hugged goodbye. His face lit up when he saw the cheesecake; mine was already wet with tears. I uttered something ridiculously corny like, "Remember how very important you are to us and how much we love you." Could it get any less original?

"Think about your parting words." Ha!

Two years later, we were living here in Utah, and it was time to take Eli up to BYU-Idaho, where he would attend one semester before his mission. This time I really believed I was over all this crying and carrying on. It was my fourth time. I had sent one missionary and three college students. I was experienced. No worries. But then the time came. I still remember sitting in the car in the parking lot of the Hinckley Building. Gerald was still working in Montana, so I was alone this time. Well, here, you can read about it yourself.

Yesterday was yet another drop-off day. Not my first. Not even my first with Eli. And I would like to report that I did. not. cry. You can ask Gerald. Nope. And I wasn't even trying to be brave because I gave up all that nonsense long ago. If I wanna cry, I'll cry. I didn't. And this time, I actually thought about my "parting words." They weren't anything profound or earth-shattering or novel. But they were from my heart:

"I love you. So much. I am so proud. My only wish is your happiness. If you need me, you call me. Any time. Day or night. I will come. Have so much fun. Enjoy every second. I love you."

Now I sit here at home, missing him. He has texted on and off throughout the day. In less than 24 hours he has found three former roommates, one former missionary companion, and a friend from high school. He has met and become friends with his new roommates. He has been to his new ward. This next chapter in his life has begun. I am grateful.

"Think about your parting words."

Yes, it's good advice, advice I will try to follow in a few years when it's Seth's turn. But let's not think about that right now. Please, can we just not. Thanks.