A father searches for words to sum up 17 years of parenting
By Randy Wedin
The ponderosa pines, sugar maples, and ginkgoes, even a monkey-puzzle tree, stand like silent and
wise elders, ringing the edges of a spacious commons, where long blades of grass bow slightly under
the weight of a heavy morning dew. The light is no longer soft and coppery like it had been at dawn,
but not yet direct and unforgiving like the steely sun of high noon. At 7:45 a.m., the light flows
through the branches of the trees like molten gold.
Elsewhere by this time of day, coffee shops, subway stations, and office buildings are buzzing with
activity. In one of those settings, I’d feel the need to forge ahead with vigor, purpose, and
clear direction. Where I stand this morning, however, it is serene.
I’m on a college campus, and it is the week before classes are to begin. The freshmen, including
Erik, my elder child, have just spent the first night in their dorm rooms and are still sleeping, assuming
they’ve gone to sleep at all. None of the other parents has yet arrived for the full day of orientation
sessions starting at 9 a.m. At the end of this day, I’ll say goodbye to my son, and head home
to a nest that is 25 percent emptier. I woke before dawn in my stuffy hotel room and felt drawn to
the campus. This is a big day for me, and I don’t want to miss a minute of it.
Until this moment, my parental experience of the high-school-to-college transition has been one of
action and anxiety, excitement, and frustration. The final year of high school rushed by like a high-speed
bullet train. It began with the college application process, including SAT exams, essays, college visits,
and looming deadlines, and ended with two hectic months filled with the big decision about which college
to attend, awards ceremonies, graduation, and senior parties. Summer provided no respite. There have
been endless forms to fill out, supplies to purchase, financial/medical/travel arrangements to make.
With all this activity, I haven’t really taken the time to listen to my heart. Or rather, my
heart has not yet spoken loudly enough for me to hear above the rush of the train.
It’s not that I haven’t tried to discern my feelings. I’ve read the book recommended
by the dean of students. I’ve studied the orientation materials from the college and spent time
perusing the college website. I’ve discussed the transition process with neighbors whose children
are several years older. My family and friends have asked me repeatedly how I feel about Erik going
away to college. I’ve tried journaling about my feelings and writing a letter to give to my son.
I’ve even examined fragments of dreams for insights. While all these experiences have helped
prepare me for this process, it still hasn’t hit me. Maybe I’m not really the soulful,
sensitive, compassionate father I pretend to be.
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Freshmen
check into their first home away from home: the residence hall (photo by Orin Bassoff).
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Sianna
Ziegler ’09 leads the way for her mother, Anne.
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