Comes now that time of year when anxious parents are bidding farewell to their college-bound offspring. Is it hard? Well, that all depends on how far away the college.
In my case, Carbon Junior College was a mere two blocks away from the house where I’d grown up. That I would go there was a no-brainer, since I’d been awarded a full-tuition scholarship (cash value: $75), and I could also save money by living at home. In other words, college would be like two additional years of high school.
At the time, I didn’t realize what a stupid thing it is not to leave home at the age of 18. What I was doing was opting to remain a child—and sadly, my parents were more than happy to oblige me. Matter of fact, they’d have been upset had I elected to fly the coop.
Fast forward to the year 2002. I now have a high school graduate of my own, a son in whom I am well pleased. He’s an only child, which means that once he moves out his mother and I will instantly become two old people, rattling around an old house with naught by an aging border collie for companionship. The three of us are going to miss Alex terribly, and yet for some reason he’s chosen to attend a university fifteen hundred miles away!
“Why the University of Texas?” I wondered. “I mean, the University of Utah is only ten city blocks from our house. And they’ve offered you a full-tuition scholarship.”
Alex made a frowny face.
“And how about Brigham Young?” I asked. “Daddy went there, so you’d be what’s called a legacy student.”
Alex dropped to the floor and began making gurgling noises—same as I also do whenever I think of my alma mater. Transferring to BYU was far and away the dumbest thing I ever did; however, at the time it seemed to make sense because it was where my father earned his master’s degree. Moreover, I had a grandmother and an aunt in Provo who would make sure that I got a regulation meal of pot roast and mashed potatoes each and every Sunday afternoon.
Alex’s mother is smarter than me, and her parents were more understanding. A native of Dallas, she opted to enroll at North Texas, thirty miles up the road in Denton. When she and I first hooked up, she was working on her master’s at the University of Texas. Although I was never enrolled at UT, it was there that I first discovered what it feels like to be on an actual college campus, and in 1969 there was just no better place to be a young person than Austin, Texas.
So when August rolled around, off we went, just the two of us. Anne stayed at home, not wishing to bear witness to the inevitable separation trauma. I took the long way to Austin, meandering through Utah, Colorado, New Mexico, Arizona–even Oklahoma. Then finally we broached Austin’s city limits, just in time for what is known there as “Moove In Day”—in honor of beloved Longhorn mascot Bevo.
Over the next few hours I heard a lot more boo-hooing than mooing. All around me distraught parents were wiping away tears as station wagons were being unloaded. I remember one mother dropped a table lamp, which shattered into pieces—evoking a piercing wail that surely signified pain more wrenching than just a broken lamp.
Alex’s new home would be in the basement of a run-down dormitory named Moore-Hill, which reminded me of a decommissioned Soviet military barracks. Scruffy red linoleum floors, dimly-lit hallways, communal showers, iron bunk beds, institutional green walls. After the last of my son’s meager possessions—including a beloved stuffed animal named Polar Bear had been installed, I took Alex to lunch and suggested that perhaps he might want to spend the night in the relative luxury of the Hilton Inn Express.
“It’s been a long day, and they’ve got nice soft beds, cable TV and a hot tub,” I said.
“Thanks, Dad,” said Alex, “but it’s time for me to get started.” And with that, he bolted from the car and bounded up the rickety steps of Moore-Hill like a thirst-crazed wildebeest.
I could hardly see the road ahead through my tears. In fact, I cried all the way to Lampassas, which is where I bought myself a six-pack of Lone Star and checked into a moderately-priced motel similar to the ones I had frequented in my single days. Lying there on a threadbare chenille bedspread, it suddenly dawned on me I, too, was making a fresh start. Of course I was going to miss my son—hell, I even missed Polar Bear! That said, I realized that Alex had chosen wisely. I wish I’d been that smart when I was his age.
