I don't think there would have been many tears throughout the last few days leading up to taking my daughter to college. The night before was stymied by exhaustion from getting my room ready (of course freshman move-in day was the first day back for my fourth and fifth grade students). As the night came to a close it was frustration from Lisa's last minute bye-bye-a-thons and instagram pictures before she left. I doubt she slept much that night. Once the morning came the tears were thwarted by the speed of the moment. I think Lisa had the keys in the can ignition before I was even out of the shower. We stopped for coffee at our local Tim Horton's, where the normal wait was an unbearable knife in the expectation of the trip.
The road trip. Kids asking to turn movie volume up, start them over. Parents asking kids to stop kicking the back of the seats, to be nice, to finish their breakfast. We drove through fog that slowed us by 10 mph. I think Lisa slept some. I wanted to pull through Amish country (exit 83!) and pick up some wine. No time.
Arrival was one event after another. I felt like my younger daughter's van-swept hair. Nametags and tables of bananas. Mom, I need my social security number. Cruz complaining to take his medication with orange juice instead of milk. Pretty college girls. Reycina almost tipping over her orange juice. Playing juggle master with folders, water bottles and complimentary coffee mugs.
Move in to a legion of helpers who unpacked the van with smiles. Lisa went into a unpacking and interior design zone. Her roomate's dad and i arranged loft beds, raised them, lowered them. We pushed cabinets into closets and lifted totes. The moms made suggestion-decisions for their daughters then retracted them with the I-really-meant-you-should-take-my-advice, "Whatever you want to do," statement. More pretty college girls.
We drove over to Target to get towels, and a few things mom's always find they need once they ever arrive at a destination. Kids were hungry. Milly's hair looked as if someone rubbed a balloon on her head. Cruz ran into the crosswalk to raise the percentage of his death by stupidity. Their snack ended up being freezer-burned fries I carried through the store like a man wearing one of those side man-bags.
Back to college for lunch. Burgers, pizza and italian subs. We met another player. Cruz at one point grabs the brownie tongs and bites from it. Contamination. Did I mention he had not yet taken his medication? The parents and I talked about the drunks at Walsh College, how God had set the girls' paths in a unique way, softball and boys.
By the time we went back to the dorm, Cruz had began a game on the Wii, Milly had lost her flip slops and Lisa had rearranged the items on her desk several times. When I checked my phone I read a text that told me my school was on lockdown from a shooting that took place on school grounds. The perps even ran through our playground. I'm sure someone tried to blow a whistle at them to stop running or forfeit their recess.
The kids did cry. I took pictures of them hugging her. And then we said goodbye. No speeches. Not that it mattered at that point. And not that I would have had anything profound to say that wouldn't end up sounding like a complaint, or a cautionary warning from a parent who didn't really know any better.
I didn't know much when we brought her into our home at age 10 (I have not previously mentioned that we adopted our daughter until now. She's all my kids ever know of a big sister. She's certainly more than I could have ever asked from my own genetics.). At age 12, we dropped her off at a birthday party without getting a phone number. My wife and I ruined our anniversary dinner fretting about her whereabouts. She ended up being safe and sound at the parent's home she was originally entrusted with. We've always had to share her--with her friends because we wanted her to have the life of a typical white, suburban girl. Sleepovers and hangouts. We shared her with softball. After the games were over, Lisa always went on her way. Even when she made the commitment to college we were not there. There are 100 other stories about her independence. All of them were training for the time when she would mature and grow and leave to live on her own. She's halfway there.
She's always been that gift I never asked for. Who knows what they get themselves into when they become a parent? I surely didn't deserve her presence. What a kid.
And by the time we started the van and headed out of the parking lot, my little one reminds me there's still more work to be done.
Daddy, will you start it all over?
And I push play everyday.
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