Julien Goes to College

We’ve been planning it for long enough. Eighteen years of preparation and the last several months visiting all the schools; Columbia and Harvard, Berkeley and Stanford, NYU and Wash U; overnights at Tufts and day trips to Johns Hopkins, Brandeis and Swarthmore. Finally Julien settled on Washington University and soon heads off to college.

Through all the visits and decisions, his leaving didn’t hit me… That is until Kim, the neighbors’ housekeeper, came by with a graduation gift; a black Tumi backpack.

I’d been planning what to pack up for him; still wondering whether he’ll insist on bringing the stuffed animals he wouldn’t let us move into storage in the attic just a few months ago. Would there be room in the dorm room for Albe his Albert Einstein doll, Monkeyman, and Icepick, the five foot long stuffed alligator, and his shredded light blue blankie?

As Kim, who has known Juilen his entire life, handed him the wrapped gift with its shiny paper and gold bow, she looked me dead in the eyes shaking her head side to side. “Oh – you are gonna cry and cry when he goes. That’s right.” I could feel it right then, for the first time, sneaking up on me as she kept talking.

We’d already shipped one son off to college in Boston. Julien’s brother Alden came back to Atlanta for year two at Emory. Nice to have him nearby. His first year away wasn’t easy. But we have experience with this now. It shouldn’t be as difficult this time around. Right?

Still, Julien, our youngest, is super close to the family. We pride ourselves on being Famillionaires, a term we coined, and having peak moments – when we’re all together and feeling an immense sense of joy just being in each others presence. We spend time together talking and traveling and enjoying meals.

Now with 13 days left, yes I’m counting, I’ve been racking my brain to come up with all the things I have yet to teach him. Time is short. We haven’t perfected his stick shift driving skills. Straightening up his room and making the bed could use some work. He knows the big stuff though; how to really listen, to say thank you, to share his heart, to be kind. Then it hits me. The bigger problem is not what I have yet to teach him – but all the things I still need to learn from him. Next time my iPhone goes down he won’t be here to show me how to download the data, or how to install the app to get the theater tickets we just bought, or how to post a photo on Instagram or even turn on Pandora. And more than that, I will miss learning from his changing perspective on world events and religion and his approach to reading books and so much more. It occurs to me that the [wonderful] reality is – I need him much more than he needs me.

He introduced us to arancini, and Thomas Negal and Lana Del Rey who sings, “Will you still love me when I’m no longer young …”

“You are going to cry,” said Kim again. “But it’ll be OK.”

My standard line for those inquiring is always, “I’m more excited for him than sad that he’s leaving.” I really believe that. I’m excited to help pick out his sheets and towels and pack him up in a way that helps him feel safe, connected to home and comfortable. And I’ll help arrange his room in Saint Louis. I will carefully tuck in the navy and white nautical sheets we picked out from Bed Bath and Beyond. I’ve ordered him a special blanket and a Best Made first aid kit that will arrive a week after drop off. So he’ll feel loved.

Washington University’s BearFacts guide book warns parents that incoming students, “will grow and learn and they will change.” They advise us, “It is important to see them as the people they are becoming, and not as the people they were when they started…” I’m excited to see who he becomes. And at the same time will miss watching him grow and change and helping him, day in and day out, to become this man he is on the verge of being.

So many unanswered questions. What will he pick for a major; a career? How will he alter the world? Will he miss his girlfriend back home? Will he be homesick? Will his heart burst? Will mine?  Will he still need me when he’s no longer young?

So next week, when we finally pack up that Tumi backpack, I hope to fill it with enough love to last both of us until I see him again at his grandmother’s 80^th birthday; 31 days, three hours and 43 minutes later – but who’s counting.

By Cynthia Good
Photo by Mark Peabody