Everything was not good to go for in-person learning far from home - Marin Independent Journal

I never once considered that being together with people again might be hard. Not the regular hard, like dealing with immediate family at home, where I am currently sandwiched between kvetching at my almost-adult child, and navigating the eldercare of a parent with my husband. I am talking about a new personal hard of being around people again in a new place.

For sure my blockheaded lack of comprehension helped account for why dropping my youngest off to college for in-person learning was so rough. How did I miss that my kid might not feel ready to move a zillion miles away from home into an unvisited dorm room with an unknown and potentially unvaccinated roommate?

I was sold on the college a year and a half ago. This place is a replica of Hogwarts, with all the leafy trees and deep green grass. I felt exuberant, like we hit the jackpot, and stupidly, assumed my son felt this way, too. Right up until the night before we left.

"Everything is good to go!" I said. "Grammy has caretakers, Dad has the days off and the flights haven't been scrambled since yesterday. All of your bloated U-Haul boxes made it to the college, and we can bring an additional 45 pounds of music books in the extra suitcase! Aren't you excited?"

According to anecdotal parenting advice, I have to consider gritty looks and grumbly "Yeahs" as conversational wins. Still, how did I not consider that his responses might be a little more telling than usual?

This poor guy just spent half of his high school junior year and all of his senior year cloistered at home with one neon tetra, two goldfish and a laptop. Dinner wasn't virtual, but every college visit was online, he went to summer camps online, he played games online, he attended classes online and presented his musical auditions online. Every concert he performed was online, as was every AP test.

If I had bothered to remember these facts, I probably could have predicted his nuclear meltdown looming upon our late-night arrival to this faraway college fantasyland. Certainly I was doing my mommying job well; cheery and positive vibes flowed like the blowing hot air it really was. But, I just couldn't stop. Doesn't everyone want a new adventure In Real Life?

The "I can't do this" and "We need to talk" texts hit well before breakfast. The sun wasn't up yet on college check-in day, as my kid stumbled into our bedroom looking bug-eyed. My husband appreciates how much more tolerant I am of him zipping and unzipping travel bags and the deafening "rrrip" sound of Velcro when he is really making a parental statement. I call it "Tech Talk," and this was his excellent response to the circumstances at hand.

I like to think it made my son feel right at home that morning, as I called the 24/7 college counseling line. We managed to get him talking about his situation with the pro. After he hung up, the best I could do was offer to meet at our B&B's backyard chicken coop for pre-breakfast egg collection. This going home business felt dire, but amazingly, my poultry viewing idea worked, and off he went to shower and get dressed. In a funny twist, the owner of the B&B left us alone in the kitchen with her lovely cast iron pans to make our own breakfast. Silently I thanked her, and she avoided us like the seasoned professional she was.

Today marks a month since that morning, and miraculously, after unpacking into his new dorm that day and meeting his vaccinated roomie, my son made a deal with us to stay. I guaranteed he could come home if he couldn't handle it, and Oh Heck Yeah! He agreed! At that point, I'd have negotiated anything to not have to figure out transporting him home that day.

Now, the holidays are coming and he has a plane ticket home. My plan is to have that 24/7 counselor on speed dial, and a spare plane ticket on hand to fly her here, too.

Noel E. Olson lives in San Rafael. IJ readers are invited to share their stories of life experiences for our How It Is column, which runs Tuesdays in the Lifestyles section. All stories must not have been published in part or in its entirety previously. Send your stories of no more than 500 words to lifestyles@marinij.com. Please write "How It Is" in the subject line. The IJ reserves the right to edit them for publication. Please include your full name, hometown and a daytime phone number.