I have been talking to parents and grandparents about helping to move their children and grandchildren into their dorms for their first year of college. It was a new experience for me, because both of my sons went to college here in Los Angeles and lived at home while they went to school.
You folks out there who have either helped move your children, grand-children or yourselves into school dorms know exactly what I’m talking about when I say that has to be one of the hardest things a parent has to do.
My sons, Michael and Larry sort of just drifted out from under our wings, and started to make their own way in this world, but when you drop these tender souls off in a strange place . . . lock, stock and barrel and say, “Give us a call to let us know how it’s going. . . ” that my friends, is another ballgame.
If any of you get a chance to let me know how it was for you, I would appreciate hearing about your experiences, and just how you felt that first day and night.
I can tell you, I read all kind of things into the face of my grand-daughter, from excitement, to wonder, to down right fear. My heart was going out to her, as she was unpacking, what seemed like enough clothes, shoes, and toiletries and “stuff” for about ten people for the rest of their lives. If only we could have spared her the anxiety, by reassuring her that it was going to be all right, and pretty soon she would begin to get into a routine in which she would feel comfortable. But, we couldn’t. Ultimately, we had to say goodnight and know in our own hearts that she has been brought up right and will be smart enough to concentrate on her studies, stay out of trouble, and continue growing up.
So, we left, headed for the parking garage to get our car. We were completely turned around, not remembering which entrance we came in from. Once we figured this out we needed to determine what landing our car was parked on. This was the first garage I ever saw where the floors were not marked, instead all of the spaces were marked numerically, and not buy room number either.
So I started to press my remote control for the door, hoping that we would see the lights blinking on the car, guess what? It worked. We saw the lights blinking about half way down the landing and my wife Joan and myself made our way over to the car.
I know my granddaughter smarter then I was because, I parked my car in someone’s reserved spot and they didn’t like it. They took the adhesive notice that was stuck on the wall in front of the car which said, in very small letters, “don’t park here,” and stuck it on the driver’s side window of my car. I am still trying get it off. The good news for me is that I remember the number of the space I was parked in and what goes around comes around . . and sticks.