Old Retired Guy Blog
February 20, 2008
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The View From the Other SideWhen Kathy and I moved back to Wisconsin last year we joked about how, now that we're finally back close to family, our kids will probably move away. As luck would have it, our son Matthew and his wonderful wife Alex are moving to Indianapolis at the end of this month. This is an exciting time in their lives and we are very happy for them. But, we're also sad to have them leave. Thinking about their upcoming departure reminded me of the time when our older son Eric left home to go to college. That affected me more than I had anticipated and I ended up writing a story about it called "The View From the Other Side." Since I'm now experiencing similar feelings about Matthew and Alex's move, I thought that I would dig up that old story and print it here. The View From the Other Side I can't honestly say that I remember it like it was yesterday since it was quite a long while ago. And yet, when I think about it my memory digs up additional bits of detail as if to demonstrate that some of those old synapses can still fire on occasion. Mostly I remember that I was happy. We were in our 1965 Mercury Comet, my Father and I. It was a tarnished gold color and had six cylinders — small then, big now. I fiddled with the radio to find some music. This accessory usually languished unused when my Father drove, but it was an important day and I turned it on. I remember catching a news report about the death of Wes Montgomery, one of my favorite guitar players. That troubled me for a moment, but this was too big a day to be sad for long. I remember that I was happy and excited. We were heading to Madison, about 100 miles from the farm on which I grew up. I was moving away to college — the University of Wisconsin. It was an enormous campus with over 40,000 students from all around the world — many more people than I had ever been around in Franksville, the unincorporated village just about a mile north of our farm. I must have been a little apprehensive about this move. At the time I did not know that I would never move back home again. But, mostly I remember the happiness and excitement. My Mother did not come with us. She had faced the demon of breast cancer a few years earlier and, though she had survived a radical mastectomy and intense radiation treatment, she didn't care to come along on such a long and exhausting drive. She did send me off with the usual advice to dress warm and take care of myself. I didn't really think about her much along the way. I did not know that she would die within two years. I was mostly excited about the move. Madison was quite the hotbed of political activism at that time. But, I was off to become a scientist. My Father had only an eighth grade education and was not sure exactly to what kind of institution he was taking his son. But, I had a high school diploma, a driver's license, and a draft card, so I was sure I was a man and could handle what lie ahead. My Father could fix anything — cars, tractors, televisions, radios — anything, and he only had an eighth grade education. Imagine what I could do with a college education. I really was pretty happy and thought about the future. We found the address of the apartment that I would be sharing with a childhood friend and another young man from another small Wisconsin town — New Glarus. One was a conscientious objector who worked at a nearby hospital, and the other was a psychology major with only a year to go to graduate. All I had with me was a small brown suitcase and a cardboard box. My Father carried the box in for me and after we placed these items in the apartment he said that he had to get going. He did not want to leave my Mother home alone too long. When he drove off I felt a little lonely. But, mostly I was full of anticipation. I was finally grown up and life was good. Time passes — whether you have an eighth grade education or a fistful of college degrees, it passes just the same. The '65 Comet eventually became my first car, so it was good to have that drivers license. The Viet Nam war raged on — about 100 bodies a week — so it was not so good to have that draft card. I eventually graduated with degrees in Chemistry, married a marvelous woman whose smile surely springs directly from her soul, and we raised two sons. The man who once drove me off to college passed away. Such is life. I can't really say much about raising kids. You know how it goes. On bad days you think it might never come, and on good days you hope that it never will, but it comes regardless, the day when you have to take your own son to college. My son had applied to several schools, and we spent the previous summer visiting many of them. In the end, much to my surprise, he chose the University of Wisconsin. I remember that he seemed very happy and excited. But times have changed. Though Madison still lies about 100 miles from the farm on which I grew up, it also lies about 2000 miles from the house in which my son grew up. It would take more than a '65 Comet to make this trip. It would take the combined forces of Northwest Airlines and Budget Car Rental to get my son to school. My wife didn't come along. She would stay in Oregon with our younger son and restrict her sadness and generous tears to the airport terminal. This was strictly a father-and-son trip, much like my own first trip several decades before. My son, too, was ready and very happy and eager to go. I don't remember much about the flight, but in the rental car we had the radio playing. My son and I both love music and this trip to college was being made with the intent of his becoming a music major. The French Horn is much more sophisticated than the guitars on which I occasionally play. But, when I think of my son I like to think that maybe he got some of his love of music from me. That makes me happy. Moving into the dorm was a lot different than my days in an apartment on Dayton Street. Hundreds of people with possessions piled into University-supplied laundry carts waited to get into two too-tiny elevators. We decided to avoid the crowds by taking the stairs — it was only six flights I think. My mind forgets, but my back remembers quite clearly. We got to the room before his roommate arrived, so my son got to pick his side of the double room. I think that made him happy. After checking into the dorm there was still much to do — buy important supplies like soda and munchies for his room, install a small light fixture over this desk, find the bookstore and get some basic supplies. But time, that silent thief, kept stealing away, and soon there was only enough time left for a quick pizza before I had to leave. The name of the pizza place escapes me, and so does the type of pizza, but I do remember how happy and excited my son was. He had a high school diploma, a driver's license and, thank God, no draft card, and he was now a young man ready to face the world. I think he was happy and anxious to get started with his new life. Then it was time to leave. The parking garage and the dorm were very close to each other so we walked together for awhile. We reached the garage first and I could tell there was no need for me to walk him any further. As we parted all I could think to say was that the years I spent on this very campus were the best years of my life and I wished him success. After a quick hug he headed down the street, anxious to get back to his room. I walked into the parking ramp and didn't have the courage to look back. As I sat in the car I felt alone and a bit sad, but I also felt happy for my son. Memories of my own trip to college came back to me and I realized that at that time it never occurred to me what my parents might have been thinking or feeling about my departure. I have now seen this event from the other side and I can tell you that there is a bit of sadness there. Men don't cry, of course, but the view through the rental car windshield was quite blurry for awhile. And the drive back to the airport was considerably more quiet and lonely than the drive up earlier that day. Yes, I can remember the sadness. And I remember my son's excitement. But, mostly I remember feeling proud. Good luck to you guys and remember, Indianapolis is not that long a drive from Madison so be prepared for visits from the parents. |
