No one told me that one of the harder parts of parting with our first son going off to college was how much it would bring back those early, anxious days for me.  Only, and this might be the hardest part – how truly different his experience is from what I went through, or at least, what I remember.

Dylan’s drop-off at Duke went as well as it could.  Even the weather cooperated – our cousins in NC warned us it was a hot, sticky time of year with lots of thunder storms.  But it was cool and overcast, pleasant, good for flying and moving. Everything else went according to plan, not so much ours as Duke’s.  We had an appointment for drop-off at the dorm, and no wait. Volunteers were there to carry all the stuff up to the third floor. Roommate was there; we recognized him from Facebook. Dylan, Bruce and roomie made a quick trip to pick up the linens, computer and school supplies we’d ordered through Blue Devil delivery. A big cardboard box of “stuff” – desk lamp, hangers, waste basket, etc., etc. along with the hockey bag and stick were delivered to the room, courtesy of a shipping service run by enterprising Duke students, who collected things from students in the Boston area and trucked them down to Durham. Books for Dylan’s courses, ordered and delivered. Plus, drinks for all us thirsty types as we’re hanging about the room, thinking where the bureau should go. Good, all good

Now travel back those so many years to Erin, starting new at college.  Well, twice, actually.  I can’t remember the details, only the impressions.  Noise, heat.  Crowded hallways and endless waits for elevators.  Headaches.  I always started the school year with a headache – information overload, no doubt.  One year I started sick, cold and fever, all passing in a blur, not sure I got to class that week.  Shopping for textbooks, the huge warehouse of a place, frequently out of stock, and those aching arms dragging the books back to my dorm room.  And the food – suffice it to say, I often had trouble digesting the food. 

But let it not be thought that this was all a negative experience. Or, if it was, some good came out of it.  My first week at UCONN, I was freezing at night on the windy fourth floor, and came looking to the RA for a blanket. That would be Donald, whom I married (after some years).  At UC/Santa Cruz, my bags didn’t arrive until four days after I did – no clothes, no towels, no toiletries.  And yet, that too was the beginning of good things. My dear, generous friend Laura Gorton, took me under her wing, and along with my roommate, Marti, got me cleaned and dressed.  Still, starting the year in someone else’s clothes is not how we think it will be.  In all, starting college, and every year thereafter, was fraught with anxiety, financial mostly, some social, and the overall worry of falling into serious trouble without a safety net.

There is a world of difference, between my son’s experience starting college, and mine.  As parents, we have great assurance that our son will be looked after.  His worries are the usual, about making new friends, trying out for club hockey, and doing well academically – far from pleading with the bursar to grant an extension on my tuition bill, or doing without a new jacket, or wondering how or if I’ll get home on the holiday.  I am at the same time, happy and relieved that Dylan is on good footing, but also sad that he cannot relate to how it was for someone like me. Our very success as parents has made a barrier between us – those who strive to get by, and those who move forward to greater things on a foundation of confidence and support. 

I didn’t know it would come back to me so strongly, those feelings of worry and doubt starting college – not so much for Dylan as my early self.  Almost everything I see, I see twice, through my early eyes and through him.  I become aware, too, of another watcher, another presence.  It’s my other self, the one I might have been had my father not died when I was six.  The one who might have been more like Dylan – smart, hard-working, thoughtful, an easy laugh, with the ability to relax and enjoy himself.  Like him, I had the gifts of learning easily and testing well, of quick comprehension and good memory. Even with difficulties, I did well, and got a lot of encouragement from teachers and professors. 

I believe, had things been different, I could have done more, accomplished more, and maybe made significant contributions.  As I hope Dylan will do.  But I don’t think my perceptions would have been the same, my appreciation or my compassion.  I hope Dylan learns those things, too.