Time to say goodbye

Rob Price

People who know me well have been offering their condolences recently. They pat me on the back, ask me how I'm doing, pour me a glass of wine. My older cousin in particular has confided he began taking antidepressants after going through what I've just experienced. "Give me a call if you need to talk," he says.

The ordeal I've just endured, if ordeal is the right word, is the registration of our only child in college. My wife and I drove to Duchess County last weekend to deliver Lora into the hands of Bard College, where she is currently undergoing a threeweek freshman orientation called the Workshop in Language and Thinking. After that her formal freshman year begins.

Actually, it wasn't all that bad - emotionally tiring, of course, but the technology of modern communications mitigates the fear you're never going to see your kid again. My wife and I already have received e-mails, text messages and a couple of phone calls from Lora. Naturally we would prefer to be small clouds that follow her from dormitory to classroom, hovering over her meals and conversations. But e-mails are a surprisingly easy way of keeping in touch.

Thirty-five years ago, when I went to college, my parents and I agreed to write letters once a week. I also would call them Sunday afternoon from the single pay phone on the dormitory floor, reversing the charges. The first letter my father sent me described his and my mother's melancholy as they drove home after saying goodbye. "To make matters worse," he wrote, "the Pirates blew a two-run lead in the ninth inning and lost 5-4 to the Mets."

The drive home from Duchess County wasn't all that depressing for my wife and me. We listened to the new Harry Potter novel on the car's CD player. Every once in a while my wife would interrupt the story to say something like, "Lora really seemed happy," and I would agree. We also made plans to drive back to the campus at the end of September, a birthday present for my wife.

People who are sending their own children off to college for their freshman year tell us they're surprised Lora's freshman orientation has begun so early. It is indeed an extensive orientation program, but it also gives me the chance to offer a couple tips to parents who are facing the prospect of sending their children to their first year of college in a week or so.

Tip number 1: Have a healthy appreciation for the raw power of a straight up martini. I ordered a straight up gin martini Saturday night after moving Lora into her dormitory, and it had a truly restorative impact on my senses. I relaxed, I smiled, I chatted about all the good parts of the day with my wife (who was enjoying her own vodka martini).

Tip number 2: Summon all the good manners in your arsenal. Good manners are the social lubricant that eases the stress of moving your child into their freshman dormitory.

I for instance encountered a rather terrifying woman in the first few minutes of moving Lora into her room, and the woman, of course, turned out to be the mother of Lora's roommate. Her first words to me after the introductions involved the necessity of disassembling the bunk beds. "Who wants to sleep in bunk beds?" she demanded.

Privately, I thought our children could disassemble the bunk beds themselves when they were good and ready. But I smiled and flexed my steely muscles and followed the woman's every order. Things went very smoothly. By now, perhaps, the girls have put the bunk beds back together. Who knows? It's their room.

Good manners also are key to the actual goodbyes you share with your child. Skip the mushiness and act as if you're sending them off for an overnight sleep-over. Say something like "Have a great time, Honey" and "Be sure to call." Don't let them know you're about to burst into tears. They might collapse themselves.

That's it: my two basic tips for parents saying goodbye to their college bound children. In retrospect, I personally found the college application process more stressful than the actual college delivery. That's when the big questions arise, such as, Can my kid get into this school? and How am I going to pay for this? Those of you who are about to begin that process have all my sympathy.

I suggest a straight up martini.