Dylan’s college tour ended with Roanoke College as a finalist. My dad had done some consulting for the college years ago, but we didn’t know much about it until they sent Dylan a letter with the offer of a $22,000 scholarship. Dylan thought it was a scam – some kind of Publishers Clearinghouse thing for colleges. But no: they were really offering him half-tuition and he’d never even visited.
Dylan and I were pleasantly surprised when we went to visit Roanoke. They have an innovative new curriculum that weaves together different subject areas and creates creatively themed classes. Their choir program is top-notch and the music director is wonderful. When Dylan went for a final visit, he was unfortunately paired with someone whose dorm-mates were planning a wild, drunken time for Dylan – on a Tuesday night. Dylan politely asked to leave before spending the night, and eventually chose Belmont.
As an aside, Roanoke shredded their tuition costs during the year that Shane applied. Instead of giving giant random awards, Roanoke now has lower cost tuition supplemented by reasonable award offers for prospective students. They’re the only college in our purview that slashed their tuition; I think it’s a good way to trend.
Shane and I visited Roanoke several times during his search. It’s relatively close to home (compared to Wisconsin) and the innovative curriculum is still alluring. Shane loved the professors and the campus is gorgeous. The Open House went well; even the mid-pandemic tour went well.
When Shane was invited into Roanoke’s Honors Program, we were all surprised. We didn’t know they had an Honors Program! So we visited campus (again) to do an Honors Luncheon – which was a great experience. The program provided an opportunity for him to take more challenging classes, and the student panel included five students who would all be good friends for Shane.
Then Shane attended some classes and events just for students. Meanwhile, I got a smoothie at the local cafe and sat on a bench, allowing the atmosphere to surround and inform me. Students chatted at the tables just outside the cafe. They wandered past me on the campus bench. And they talked loudly enough for me to catch snippets of their conversations.
Apparently, there was a party the prior night – a Thursday. Everyone was drunk last night and hungover today. Some drama had occurred. Someone was still missing in action deep into Friday afternoon.
In spite of the Honors Program, the time I spent alone on campus made me feel like this place might not be such a good fit for my stone-cold-sober, rule-following son.
Shane reappeared before dinnertime, ready to head home. We’d had a full day and given Roanoke our complete consideration. It wasn’t going to be Shane’s choice, and one statement he made summed up his reasoning.
He said, “I like everything about Roanoke. I like the professors and the campus and the classes. I like everything except the people.” (He meant “students,” but I don’t want to misquote.)
“What about the Honors students?” I asked.
“They were good,” he said. “But there aren’t that many of them.”
In other words, with the exception of a handful of Honors students, Roanoke students weren’t “his people.” They were classic college students: partiers, athletes, sorority girls – which is fine.
Shane’s visit to Susquehanna University was unlike any we’d ever had.
Dylan and I had visited Susquehanna twice, and it is a beautiful campus. I remember the visit with Dylan well because all of the professors lined up on stage for a panel discussion; they all had matching water bottles on the floor (with Susquehanna logos) and crossed their legs in exactly the same fashion. Dylan thought this was hysterical, and I had to agree.
But Shane is an entirely different person and he, too, thought the campus was beautiful. So Shane applied last summer and was offered an enormous financial aid package so quickly that we decided to return for their Fall Open House.
Shane ditched Susquehanna during the campus tour. Along the way, not one but two students whispered in his ear: “Don’t go here! Don’t go here!” In all of our campus tours, nothing like that ever happened anywhere else. Their own students were warning prospectives? Shane took it as a sign that he should not go to Susquehanna.
It wasn’t until the student panel that my mind was changed. (After all, no one whispered in my ear.) It was an aesthetic group of kids: a studious redheaded female; a blond athletic female; a brown-haired athletic male; an overweight Black male who was involved in countless clubs and editor of the school newspaper.
Since Susquehanna is predominately (95%) White – as was evidenced by the Open House crowd – I found it interesting that the student panel was moderated by a Black female. She asked her questions of the students and then seemingly went into a daze, staring into space as the students answered. I found her behavior compelling, so I watched her, too.
One question was about freshman year dorms. The redhead mentioned her freshman dorm, and said that she’d gotten to know the blond girl from that dorm, that they were still friends. The blond girl agreed that their freshman year dorm was great, and that her closest friends were from that freshman dorm.
Since the dorm is apparently co-ed, the brown-haired athlete said that he, too, had lived with the two female student panelists during his freshman year in the very same dorm. They still did things together, he said, and he too had other close friends from the same dorm.
The Black male was quiet for a moment when it was his turn to answer the question. Then he brightened quickly and said, “Well! I guess we were all in the same dorm at the same time. I didn’t realize that.” Then he said that he liked the dorm, too; the beds were comfortable. He said nothing about friends.
My jaw dropped to the floor. I couldn’t see or hear anything; I couldn’t focus on words anymore.
Without actually saying it, the Black student had – very unobtrusively – told the entire audience that he’d been completely ostracized by the White students. Was it his race? His size? It surely wasn’t his personality; he was the funniest and brightest light on that panel.
But I could see the pain in his eyes before he made his announcement. I saw the Black staff member come to life a little. And for the first time in any college panel, I saw clearly that Susquehanna University was far too conservative and very likely racist for my family to condone it.
We sat through the day, but Susquehanna plummeted to the bottom of Shane’s list – and stayed there until Spring, when he finally told them that no amount of money could convince him to attend.
When Shane was a freshman in high school, I suggested that we spend spring break touring colleges with his friend from kindergarten and her mom. The plan was to traverse the great state of Connecticut and get a feel for what both kids liked – and didn’t – about colleges.
It was Shane’s first official college road trip. I called it the Connecticut “Rhode” Trip because our goal was to make it as far east as the Rhode Island School of Design, which has a fabulous film program. I thought I was so clever with “Rhode” trip. When we arrived, we discovered that the school’s proximity to Brown – literal walking distance – was its best feature. Shane learned that he isn’t much of a city person, and Providence is most definitely a city. Plus the “conservatory” feel of the college wasn’t his thing.
We started our trip driving through New Jersey, so Shane’s first college visit was actually at Princeton University. This was a thrill for me because the campus was incredible. We wandered into the children’s section of Princeton’s library with its special nooks and cozy chairs. We stopped at the bookstore in the darling town of Princeton where I wanted every Tiger shirt I saw, but Shane was not impressed. In fact, he didn’t like Princeton at all.
What I remember most from Princeton is that Shane wouldn’t cross the street unless he was in a crosswalk. This happened long before we realized the extent of his rule-following behaviors.
Our “Rhode” trip included Princeton, Rutgers, Fairfield, Yale, Brown, Johnson & Wales, University of Connecticut, Wesleyan, and Quinnipiac. University of Connecticut was too big for his liking, although again – I liked it. I still think about returning just for those delicious sweet potato fries we got for dinner.
I tried to make the trip fun, since it was still spring break. Our itinerary included stops at a soda bottling factory, the world’s largest Pez dispenser (and its store) and a comic and cartoon museum that turned out to be much more fun for the moms than for the kids. I also insisted on going to a hotel with a water slide, which was a disaster because the pool was overrun with unruly children. To be honest, a stop at Friendly’s was the best part of our trip.
We missed Connecticut College – which was probably the best fit for Shane and his friend – because we rushed off in search of an abandoned amusement park. I thought we might find something really interesting, since Shane loves amusement parks, but it was awful. The sun was setting as we arrived, so we raced to where it was supposed to be, threw our car into park, and wildly went in search of roller coaster pieces. We walked about a mile before finding a dwarf-sized, graffiti-covered shack deep in the woods. We took pictures and hiked to the car in darkness. (Years later, because I was so sorry about this experience, we returned to Connecticut College for a tour.)
What I learned on our “Rhode” trip is that Shane likes small colleges with wide open green spaces. He doesn’t enjoy large campuses or urban environments. The biggest success for Shane was the discovery of Fairfield University, where dogs visit campus every Wednesday – and we happened to be visiting on a Wednesday. There’s nothing like petting Yale’s bulldog to evoke a longing for Fairfield.
So … we learned, and it was a good base for the next three years of visits.
For those of you who have been urgently checking to see if I’ve written any new blog posts, I apologize. My focus has been elsewhere for quite some time and I had a hard time getting back to having my piddly on-page tantrums and wondering aloud about the meaning of life.
I have spent the better part of the past month with Shane, taking him on road trips to the last few colleges on his list. The college search was amazing. Shane looked at nearly a hundred campuses, took at least two dozen on-campus admissions sessions and campus tours (after which we stopped counting) – and did so many Zoom sessions with colleges that he was able to eliminate the need for campus visits to many places.
This was not Shane’s dream; it was mine. Shane and I both love hotels (which, in this pandemic era, is crazy) so he was willing to accompany me during every school break and on the weekends to see stuff. For years – and even during the pandemic – I researched colleges and offered suggestions and printed out statistics and student reviews. For those colleges that interested Shane, I planned trips in great detail, from hotels and nearby attractions to restaurant options for the towns through which we passed.
Shane went along with all of my silly whims and – while he complained like any normal teenager – he was an unbelievably pleasant passenger, even though it took me four years to figure out that sometimes, he just didn’t feel like talking. Those times were hard for me, but I also have memories of lots of music (all Shane’s choices) and some harrowing experiences that will be highlights in my memories. Best of all, I got to spend time with Shane that, otherwise, would have been time that he spent playing guitar or listening to podcasts or writing songs … which is what he did when we weren’t traveling.
Now that Shane has chosen a college, I have stories from every trip – some of which (like when the car careened off the road) have been detailed here. Since I still have no interest in thinking about life without Shane, I figured I could write about those trips, those experiences that I remember best – but not about the car. That is something I would rather forget, but is forever etched into my brain.
I will provide the one highlight, for those of you not on Facebook who were waiting to hear: Shane made the absolute perfect choice for his next four years. He will be attending Lawrence University in Appleton, Wisconsin. This is unbelievably exciting for all of us!
I considered closing my blog for good after telling whatever college visit stories I summon. But I realized: I have my entire life to chronicle, if I want. I have years and years of drunken tales from my own youth, and even more years of getting-sober tales. And since I am only writing for myself, I might just do that.
If nothing else good comes from the pandemic, it has at least given me an opportunity to sleep a solid eight hours every night. I rarely need to get up with an alarm, and I have revamped my schedule so that I rarely have to be anywhere before noon.
This may seem a bit extravagant, especially when most people are up well before noon – but I don’t sleep until noon. I just get up at my leisure, even if I’ve stayed up until 2:00 in the morning. What I’ve learned is that having an alarm set makes me wake in fits and starts all night long, so I don’t sleep well. Literally I hallucinate the alarm all night long, and wake up in a panic. No alarm? No problem.
Even more fun, I now remember my dreams. Last week, I met Rod Stewart, again, in my dream. Unfortunately, while trying to take a selfie with him at the helm of a ship, the captain stole my cell phone and the dream turned into a nightmare.
After that, all of my dreams turned into nightmares.
In one particularly horrifying dream, I was just walking down a country road in the darkness … when a war plane flew over dropping thousands of Russian paratroopers into the night’s sky. One by one they landed, like a bad movie, rousting people from their beds and taking them into communist custody. I woke up before anyone got shot.
But a couple of nights later, I was at a bridal shower when a woman pulled out a rifle to shoot a child. Since I always carry my own rifle with me at parties, I pulled out my rifle and shot at the woman before she could kill the child – but I missed. I killed another woman instead, and spent the rest of the dream running from the police and all of the friends who’d seen me do it.
I love analyzing dreams as they happen, but I’ve had trouble with this particular set of nightmares. I’m not sure what the “bad guy” in the dream represents. Normally I ascribe three adjectives to the person/thing in the dream, and that tells me which part of me or my life I’m dreaming about. Then I psychoanalyze myself and the nightmares go away.
But I just feel victimized in all of these dreams. My tried-and-true method of dream analysis has failed me. I can’t ascribe three adjectives to Russian paratroopers or the ship’s captain; they are faceless, nameless. And do I blame myself for shooting an innocent woman, or do I congratulate myself for trying to be a hero – and who’s the bad guy, really?
Last night, I dreamed that a group of cats discovered a hole in my body – from which a worm was trying to escape. Within two minutes, I had worms crawling out from under my skin everywhere – short, fat worms and three-foot-long fat ones, and caterpillar-like creepy things. Some odd nurse-lady told me it would continue indefinitely. “They all have to come out,” she said.
I woke up, again, thinking: WHY??? Why worms? I have no idea what the lurking unconscious motivation might be.
Anyway, it’s been a long few weeks. Since my life pretty much revolves around waiting for Shane’s college acceptances and planning return visits, I wonder if that might be it. But it feels like something more is brewing under the surface – and not worms.
It feels like I’m being attacked every night in my sleep.
Shane is getting into colleges all over the country. Everyone – so far – wants him to join their campus, sleep in their dorms, eat their food, attend their classes.
Shane applied to college in Massachusetts, Pennsylvania, Maryland, New York, Vermont, Wisconsin, Ohio, California, Virginia, Illinois and Michigan. We’ve visited far more than those to which he’s applied, but these were the ones he liked enough to tempt with his credentials.
He’s heard back from 11 of the 15 colleges to which he applied, and every single one of them has accepted him. Nine of them have already presented him with very impressive merit aid offers; one has congratulated him but hasn’t sent the “package” yet.
Shane has his favorites, although I am not at liberty to say what they are. And of course, his decision will depend on how he feels after going back to visit those favorites. There’s still a (good) chance that he won’t get into all of the schools; there’s an even better chance that we wouldn’t be able to afford them if he does get in.
Sometimes, when the boys are in school and I am doing nothing, I stare at the chart of Shane’s colleges. I think about what he might do, where he might go. I plan (mostly in my head) for returns to the various campuses. I ponder his future career possibilities; I wonder about internships.
And then, as I am aimlessly pondering, something comes crashing in through the back door of my brain – something that I keep pushing aside, knocking to the ground, and ignoring. It’s a thought – a persistent, forceful thought that comes back no matter how often I pretend it’s not there. The thought says:
Shane is going to college.
I spend hours thinking about college, and finances, and his acceptances, the choices he has, the whole world at his fingertips. I spend days and weeks and years planning trips to visit all the choices. I love watching him having all the choices! It’s so fun and interesting and exciting!
I love thinking about where he is going, what he will be doing, visualizing his decision.
But Shane is going to college. He’s not going to be here anymore. He’s not going to be in his bedroom, deafened by the music in his headphones. He’s not going to respond instantly to my texts. He’s not going to come running down the stairs for dinner.
He can’t do those things because he’ll be at college.
I’ve spent most of his life planning for this time … for him. But I haven’t planned anything for me. My plan beyond Shane going to college consists of one thing: visiting Shane at college.
Sure, someday my husband plans to retire and we’ve talked a little about what that might be. But my life has revolved around children, then teenagers, and the college search, for nearly a decade. Where they land is where I want to be.
They do not want this. Maybe they want a safe place to call home, a place to return and visit for holidays while they’re building their own lives. But they don’t want me traipsing all over the country wondering when they’ll provide me with grandchildren. If anything, they want me to stand back and let them grow.
And I can do that, I suppose. But for right now, I will just wonder where Shane will go to college.
Shane’s college search has been a wild ride. We’ve visited nearly a hundred campuses. We’ve taken at least 20 official tours. He’s done countless virtual sessions. He narrowed it down to 15 colleges that he believed were worthy of an application.
I have noticed on various Facebook pages and college admissions chatter sites that there seems to be a discrepancy about how many college applications are “acceptable.” There are thousands of parents who say that two applications are enough; some only apply to one. Those parents usually have kids who only look at a handful of schools, and base their decision strictly on location and finances.
This is absolutely a fine way to do it. Location and finances are wildly important. From what I’ve gathered, most parents don’t even venture out of state.
Obviously these parents are not nearly as obsessive as I am. I can’t imagine limiting the search to that extent. We did a mid-pandemic tour of New York that covered 10 colleges in 16 hours – just to be able to tour during the pandemic! (We did not see a soul on any campus, as it was mid-summer.)
I bought and borrowed dozens of books about colleges. When I go to bed at night, they are the only things I want to read. I just read and read and read about college admissions, as if it matters. I’m not sure my obsession has done anything for Shane, except to introduce colleges to him that aren’t located in our area.
This may have been a mistake, because now his favorite choices are incredibly far from home.
And he’s been getting acceptances like crazy! We are still waiting for some of those more selective schools to see what they decide.
For me, “March Madness” has nothing to do with basketball. I check Shane’s email a hundred times a day, waiting to see if those last few decisions have been announced yet. I don’t open Shane’s email, of course. And Shane is merrily romping through play practice every day, blissfully unaware that another day is going by without a decision. He doesn’t even get home until it’s nearly dark outside.
So even if those decisions come in, he won’t know until the end of the day. But this doesn’t stop me from reading College Confidential all day, finding out more about colleges that may or may not accept him. In the past week, I have also prepped myself for decisions from colleges to which he has never even applied! College Confidential is a good way to lose an entire day – or year – of life.
I’m not sure what I think is going to happen once all the decisions are in. But I do know one thing for sure: as soon as they’re in, I can start planning our spring break trip! And that is my favorite thing to do.
I have a real issue with college rankings. If this sounds like a rant, so be it. But before anyone complains that I don’t know what I’m talking about, please read Where You Go Is Not Who You’ll Be. It’s got way more factual backup than I could ever provide in this blog.
Many parents – and students – are driven only by college rankings. People are obsessed with attending one of the “best” colleges in the country. What’s ironic is that there is no “best” college.
Back in 1983 – coincidentally while I was attending college – U.S. News and World Report published a report called America’s Best Colleges. They didn’t have any special training in determining what made a good college; they just selected some random criteria. They asked around, did some research. They contacted colleges and used data supplied by staff. No one is sure if their data was (or is) accurate; they just used whatever they got.
And if a college didn’t respond to their request for data, it didn’t get ranked, simple as that. In fact, more than 35 years later, U.S. News is still making that annual list with virtually the same criteria. Of the nearly 4,000 institutions of higher education in the United States, only 1,466 have been ranked. U.S. News hasn’t even compiled data on more than 2,000 colleges in this country.
I won’t delve into the statistics used to determine the “best” colleges because they are random and useless. (If you really need to know, click here.) U.S. News gathers random data, just like they did in 1983, and sometimes they ask “experts” for their opinions.
Then they make a list. They could just as easily be listing the “best” candy.
After that, the insane American public takes over. If it’s ranked, it must be good! Princeton is #1? My kid must go there!
And the longer this goes on, the worse the situation becomes.
Case in point: a college with a low acceptance rate must be a good college, right? Well… no. A low acceptance rate literally means that the college rejects a ton of highly qualified students.
But thanks to U.S. News, and the crazed folks who believe that “quality” and “ranking” mean the same thing, the colleges that are ranked highly get even more applications, which means they reject even more students. So their acceptance rates go down, while the quality of the college doesn’t change even a tiny bit.
There’s nothing “better” about ranked colleges. But by being ranked, the college name becomes synonymous with quality (even if quality was never determined) – which leads to name recognition – and name recognition will supposedly provide a better future to the college graduate.
It doesn’t really work that way, but that’s what people believe.
I’m not saying that the 1,466 colleges that have been ranked aren’t good schools – or that some aren’t better than others. I’m just saying that U.S. News is not qualified to decide. Their claim to fame is that they are “a recognized leader” in rankings – and they rank everything now, including high schools – but who recognizes them as a leader?
Well, anyone who reads their lists and believes their hooey considers them a leader. So they are certainly “recognized.”
But U.S. News has absolutely no idea how to analyze a college, nor do they care. They’re making a fortune by sitting around, compiling data and opinions, and turning those things into lists.
But there is currently no uniform, accepted definition of what constitutes a quality college. And until there is, there simply can’t be any accurate college rankings.
It’s been a few weeks since my trip, so I feel confident talking about this now. When I went to Tennessee to visit Dylan, I spent three days not wearing a mask.
In early February, Omicron was raging, so this was an incredibly dangerous thing for me to do. It wasn’t dangerous in the I-might-get-COVID-and-die way; I have survived it once already and I am hopeful that I would survive the milder Omicron if I got it. It was dangerous because I was supposed to hop on a plane to California with Shane as soon as I got home. I didn’t want to get sick in Tennessee and miss taking Shane to California.
My first stop in Nashville was at a concert venue where my beloved son would be playing music. When I first arrived, I wore my mask everywhere. I ducked into the venue and pushed quickly through all of the people indoors – none of whom were masked – and shoved straight through to the back patio where the bands were playing outdoors.
I didn’t see a single mask in the crowd. They were young and believed they were invincible, I reasoned. Their brains don’t even fully develop until the age of 25.
It felt like there was a sniper lurking and I was the only one who knew about it. I covered my face and stood in the back of the room away from the tiny mosh pit. I hid from people as much as possible, even though I was outside.
Then I found Dylan, and stood near him. Like everyone else, he was not wearing a mask. We were at the sound board together, so I felt safely away from the crowd. I took off my mask and drank my ice water and tried not to worry.
When it came time to get another glass of water, I was troubled. No one inside was wearing a mask; no one outside was wearing a mask. If I put on my mask to go inside, like I did at home, I would look even more out of place than I did by being old.
So I held my breath and just … walked inside. I went through the people quickly, stood away from the other customers at the bar, and asked for my drink.
That’s when I realized: the bartender could hear me.
I am quiet and it’s been challenging for people to hear me through my mask for the past two years. But in Tennessee, everyone was able to hear me – even above the din of the bands and the drunken customers.
Suddenly I felt energized. I got my water and I felt like I was 22. I was walking around in a bar without protection! I was wild! I was free! I was invincible!
This went on for three days.
I took my mask everywhere – in my pocket. Dylan and I went to restaurants and a museum and a car wash and a grocery store and another store and … we went wherever we wanted, and nobody anywhere was wearing a mask. For those days, I worried a little: Does the waitress have COVID? Do the other shoppers have COVID? I scurried a bit, trying to stay six feet away.
But most of the time, I felt like I was flying. It was like diving off the top of a building. Of course, I had no idea if I was going to crash land in the street below. But I dove and dove and dove … and did not crash.
Since I am allowed to just rant about whatever I want in this blog, I would like to take issue with three words that really, really bother me:
Rest In Power.
When someone dies, this is often posted on the web next to an obituary. From what I can gather, this is supposed to be a term of honor, something that sends the deceased into a place among the angels with an extra gold star on the halo.
But when I hear it, the words reflect some kind of anger and, to me, the term does nothing to elevate the person who has died. In fact, I think: What a load of hooey.
Everyone gets one life. Then, at the end of it, we finally get to rest. This world is over and we get to move on to whatever comes next. We finally get to leave the Human Condition. It’s probably the only thing good about death: some form of rest is practically guaranteed. If there’s nothing after this life, at least there’s no more human angst. And if there is an afterlife, even if Heaven isn’t the correct term, it has to be a more stress-free existence than the life we’ve completed.
No matter what happens next, it’s just got to be peaceful. Even if we’re reincarnated and have to go through that, there is probably a bit of time between death and the next life. So: Rest In Peace. It fits. It’s suitable. It gives the person who has died a sense of dignity and calm.
Rest In Power implies that the person – who is dead and can do nothing – still has to fight. They have to be powerful, in charge of something, representing some valid cause. They have to be strong. Why would anyone in their right mind want to ooze strength and power even after death?
What do people expect from the dead if they are sending them to rest in power? Are the deceased warriors who should be in charge of something on the Other Side? Are they going to be leading a group of protestors, a fight against the establishment, an army of do-gooders? And how are they supposed to rest if they have all that responsibility thrust upon them?
I am not terribly active in fighting for my favorite causes in life. Maybe I just need the energy of the dead to start standing up for the rights of the oppressed. But wait … do the dead have energy? Do I even want the dead to have that kind of energy?
I don’t plan on getting a rush of energy when I die. I plan to be dead. I want to rest. I don’t want any extra responsibility and I sure don’t want to have to be in charge of anything. I don’t want even the tiniest bit of power.
So while I have no idea – truly I don’t – what happens after one is dead, I would like to plead with anyone who might post my death on social media: please, allow me to Rest In Peace.
