One Away - Visitor's Story

by Joan Brugman
(Gastonia, NC, USA)

When you know you have two rockets or missiles or balloons to launch and you get the first one up into the air, you have "one away." People smile and cheer. They shield their eyes and gaze up into the sky watching the trail. "One away "implies you're waiting for the second to launch one any time now. That's where I am. There's a sense of relief that the first one is away, but then again, there's a kind of emptiness too. When they both go...... then what?

We left our boy, our first born baby, blond hair and blue eyes, born bald as a cue ball, now sporting a scruffy blond "beard"- more like underbrush- all alone at college today. I could feel the sickness in the pit of his stomach and the squeeze in his throat even before he asked, only fractionally joking, if it was too late to just go home. I told him he'd be fine but I prayed as fast as I could that he really would be.

I think we gave him every single thing that he could possibly need to succeed. We taught him how to ride a bike without training wheels, how to read even when he doesn't like it, how to pitch a baseball and start a campfire; how to use the washing machine, make his bed, drive a car, and make scrambled eggs in his hot pot; how to be a good and loyal friend, to be respectful to his elders and to go to church- which he is on the way to do with his grandparents right this minute, by the way. He's a good boy, that kid.

He is, in fact, and by all accounts, a remarkable kid. He has learned to motivate himself to study so he can be a doctor like his dad, although he uses medicine to overcome his ADHD when even motivation can't drive the brain to do what it doesn't want to do. He needs it less and less. He feels really good about that because the meds, for all their benefits, steal his spontaneity and zany sense of humor. He started out struggling to read. Letters and their contingent sounds seemed like such useless details to him when he was in first grade. Now-he has been accepted into a very competitive dual admission program as an Honor's Biology Premed student, where he has already been accepted into the medical school as long as he keeps his grades up. He got a nice academic scholarship and an extra scholarship bump for the honors program.

What he still struggles with is social self confidence. It IS the monkey on his back and always has been.

When he was born my mother said, "Oh, he has a worried look on his little face. I like that!" (I don't know if she thought it was cute or if she could totally related since she had severe anxiety herself.) He is shy and slow to warm up. When he has hit his stride, you'd never know he constantly second guesses himself and his worth. He feels his birth right to be first- keenly, when around his sister- but otherwise, he'd stay back and let the world go first, making himself vulnerable to being overlooked or discounted. He would never ask his roommate to let him tag along on his many many - many- jaunts out and about to meet new friends. He leaves my son behind without so much as a look back. And my child would never speak up. He'd just stay there. Alone in his room, with his American flag struggling to stay on the wall and his Red Sox poster and penants staring boldly across at his roommate's Yankees preferences . (Ah, tears welling- mine, not his-- well, you know I'm not there so I don't really know if there are tears in his eyes about that or not. He wouldn't show them to me- but I could feel them, and taste that sour stomach acid taste in his throat, and feel that heavy heavy weight on his chest as we discussed the roommate's tendency to blow him off on the first night.)

There will be chances coming to meet more people. He did have a small group of friends in high school, although it took him a couple of years to make them! He will do so again, I'm sure. Eventually. There are only 8 boys on the floor with 30 girls and 2 female Resident Assistants. That could be good - or bad. The girls' soccer team is on the floor-( his roommate loves soccer! Tim does NOT. ) The other kids on the floor have not all moved in yet. He is waiting- waiting for someone to show up that he can relate to. I have to have faith that that person is on the way right now and that Tim will find a way to connect, to offer a tool, to knock on their door, something, some way to find a friend. Surely the RA's will help people connect, won't they? It is an all freshman dorm so they know these kids are all new and feeling varying degrees of terror, right? I know they do.

This experience is so much like teaching him to ride his bike without training wheels. You put a helmet on him. (You make sure he's got the insurance cards, first aid supplies and knows how to get to the campus student health clinic and pharmacy. You make sure he has jumper cables, a flat tire repair kit and knows how to use the jack. You give him a roadside assistance card and show him where all the dangerous places in traffic are. You make sure he brought his bible with him! )

You run along beside him, holding him up for a while, as he waveringly pleads- "don't let go." (We drove around town for a whole day and showed him how to get to his grandparents house about 10 miles away, gave him a gas card and showed him where a car repair place is, made sure his student card was loaded with money for his meal plan and took him to get the card activated, gave him a little cash, and enough cans of ravioli, and ramen noodles to cook in his hot pot or microwave that he won't starve if he's too shy to go to the food court alone and how to get to the grocery store when the ravioli runs out. We made sure he knew where the mail room and his PO box were and what his mailing address is, where the laundry room was and how to use the machines and the cool 3 in 1 laundry detergent/fabric softener sheets we got him.)

You teach him to balance- to study and relax. Socialize, exercise, and keep your grades and your faith up. We showed him how to get to the cinema, how to get to a really nice beach where he can fish- how to get a parking lot slip so he doesn't get a ticket! Got him a fishing license; showed him where to get bait, how to negotiate the traffic in very, very crowded ft lauderdale, how to use the elaborate student recreation complex, racquetball courts, intramural teams, and encouraged him to go to church - with or without the grandparents. You make sure he has his books, scientific calculator, extra batteries, desk lamp, mac book (!) and ADHD medicine- kept in a locked box.

And then --- you let him go. You yell, "Peddle, peddle, peddle!!!" (You encourage him to go to the meet and greet activities, to reach out and introduce himself to as many people as he can- loud enough so they can hear him (!), ensure he's in a class with a professor who really likes college kids and encourages thinking- not just regurgitating- in his major area and is willing to help him choose his courses for all the upcoming semesters when you won't be there to guide him; you remind him to figure out where his classes are- on his own, remind him to get his wireless connection for his laptop set up -on his own, remind him to email the intramural coordinator lady- on his own.)

You know he will wobble and then you realize you didn't tell him how to stop smoothly, because you were so focused on the need to peddle and balance. So, when the crash comes, you are ready for it, but he may not be. You will reassure him he's alright. At some point you will leave him to ride his bike all by himself. That's what kids do. If parents keep running along beside them calling out instructions and warnings, they're not really riding on their own. Right?

So you drive away with him standing there, with that forlorn look on his face, not going into the dorm, but walking along the sidewalk apparently following your car, signing "I love you" as you drive off.

And you cry on the way home because you've got "one away."