Post by gatordog on Sept 24, 2008 7:31:42 GMT -5
something senior parents will soon experience....
from Chicago Tribune's Eric Zorn
College a rite of passage for parents too
Eric Zorn | Change of Subject
September 23, 2008
The last march, the one we'd been hoping for yet dreading since 1989, was a ritual procession about a third of a mile through campus on a gorgeous autumn afternoon.
Bagpipers played. Families walked along, many of them quietly, like us, lost in their private thoughts as each step brought the incoming freshmen closer to the symbolic end of childhood.
At the end of the march was a wrought iron gate with a large sign welcoming the teens to college. Arrows directed new students through the gate and their family members to the right.
It was on that spot that the figurative divergence of our paths was to become literal.
My wife and I traveled not just a third of a mile together with our eldest son, but tens of thousands of miles over 18 years. No matter where he was or what he was doing, we were responsible for him and he was accountable to us. And as bittersweet as the thought became in the final months, we always knew that our highest calling as parents was to accompany him to this point, and then to let him go on alone.
That parting—whether it's for college, the military or any other move away from home—is a profound transition. Yet it's one that's often overshadowed by the pomp of graduations and coming-of-age observances that merely anticipate big changes.
It calls for ceremony, not just private, weepy farewells.
The ceremony began for us the night before with a family dinner at a favorite neighborhood restaurant. We gave him a professionally printed photo book that took him from his first hour of life up to our most recent family vacation several weeks ago. Inside was a love letter I'd written him, stuffed with advice:
"One of the indulgences of middle age is contemplating what you wish you could go back and tell your younger self at key moments," I wrote. "The only practical application for this indulgence is inflicting the advice upon those who actually still are their younger selves."
And thus followed the predictable—but solid!—reminders to be kind, grateful, moderate, curious, honest and fair. And the exhortations to take notes along the way, accept blame when you deserve it and to look for solace, joy and fellowship in music.
Such parental valedictories are either unnecessary—if you've done your job right—or too little too late—if you haven't. But it made me feel better to write it down.
The next day, with his younger brother and sister, we moved him into his dorm, then sat as a family during the opening convocation at the campus chapel. In a series of pep talks, university officials spoke of the "culture of rigorous inquiry" the students were about to join and spoke of how "exciting, enjoyable, challenging, empowering and gratifying" their next four years would be.
Then came the bagpipes and the last march. He alone was dry eyed when we reached the gate. Whether the time was right or not, the time had come. We gave him the longest hugs he'd allowed since he was a little boy, back when he began squirming away from excessive parental embraces.
He turned and passed confidently through the gate, loping along with his fellow freshmen along a path of cheering upperclassmen, into his new life. We watched with soaring yet broken hearts until his head bobbed out of sight.
He never looked back.
from Chicago Tribune's Eric Zorn
College a rite of passage for parents too
Eric Zorn | Change of Subject
September 23, 2008
The last march, the one we'd been hoping for yet dreading since 1989, was a ritual procession about a third of a mile through campus on a gorgeous autumn afternoon.
Bagpipers played. Families walked along, many of them quietly, like us, lost in their private thoughts as each step brought the incoming freshmen closer to the symbolic end of childhood.
At the end of the march was a wrought iron gate with a large sign welcoming the teens to college. Arrows directed new students through the gate and their family members to the right.
It was on that spot that the figurative divergence of our paths was to become literal.
My wife and I traveled not just a third of a mile together with our eldest son, but tens of thousands of miles over 18 years. No matter where he was or what he was doing, we were responsible for him and he was accountable to us. And as bittersweet as the thought became in the final months, we always knew that our highest calling as parents was to accompany him to this point, and then to let him go on alone.
That parting—whether it's for college, the military or any other move away from home—is a profound transition. Yet it's one that's often overshadowed by the pomp of graduations and coming-of-age observances that merely anticipate big changes.
It calls for ceremony, not just private, weepy farewells.
The ceremony began for us the night before with a family dinner at a favorite neighborhood restaurant. We gave him a professionally printed photo book that took him from his first hour of life up to our most recent family vacation several weeks ago. Inside was a love letter I'd written him, stuffed with advice:
"One of the indulgences of middle age is contemplating what you wish you could go back and tell your younger self at key moments," I wrote. "The only practical application for this indulgence is inflicting the advice upon those who actually still are their younger selves."
And thus followed the predictable—but solid!—reminders to be kind, grateful, moderate, curious, honest and fair. And the exhortations to take notes along the way, accept blame when you deserve it and to look for solace, joy and fellowship in music.
Such parental valedictories are either unnecessary—if you've done your job right—or too little too late—if you haven't. But it made me feel better to write it down.
The next day, with his younger brother and sister, we moved him into his dorm, then sat as a family during the opening convocation at the campus chapel. In a series of pep talks, university officials spoke of the "culture of rigorous inquiry" the students were about to join and spoke of how "exciting, enjoyable, challenging, empowering and gratifying" their next four years would be.
Then came the bagpipes and the last march. He alone was dry eyed when we reached the gate. Whether the time was right or not, the time had come. We gave him the longest hugs he'd allowed since he was a little boy, back when he began squirming away from excessive parental embraces.
He turned and passed confidently through the gate, loping along with his fellow freshmen along a path of cheering upperclassmen, into his new life. We watched with soaring yet broken hearts until his head bobbed out of sight.
He never looked back.