that guy
I have a stack of books in my study that I checked out from the library. They have titles like "The Naked Roommate and 107 other issues you might run into at college," and "The Naked Roommate for Parents." Not that I need one of those, I do have Steve. "You are on your own," is another. Kind of abrupt.
I haven't read any of these books. I'm frozen in a river that winds between letting go and pushing out. There's also a big box in my study of dorm linens. And storage boxes for under the dorm bed, for the extra towels I will buy Syd. A memory foam pad for his prison-like mattress is also in there. I bought the best one, because who can send off their kid to college with an egg carton foam pad?
The parent orientation at UNT that coincides with Syd's has an overwhelming amount of break-out sessions interspersed with huge amounts of good food and "spirits" in the evening hours. We kind of went with our gut in picking the sessions, and skipped a few to buy clothing in the Union bookstore. There's only so much preparedness a parent can take.
We landed in "how to deal with your student's mental state." I can't remember the actual title, it might have also been called "dispensing your kid's meds." We have a wee bit of mental illness in my family, and a good bit of paranoia in my mind. I pictured Syd, laying on his best memory foam pad, sinking into depression. A naked roommate nearby doing what naked roommates do.
Sidebar: Upon seeing this book in our house, Syd questioned what the issue was with the nakedness of the roommate.
The head psychologist giving the session bugged me a lot with his hippy ways and open shirt; and a majority of the parents there were asking how to get their student's ADHD meds. I perked up when I heard they have several therapy dogs in the "mental office." Again, probably not what they called it.
As our paths intersected with Syd's during the orientation, I fill him in on how we are spending our time. Eating chocolate cake, joining parent associations, and generally ignoring all the other parents. I'm telling Syd about the therapy dogs and he's looking at me with concern. As if I need a therapy dog.
Maybe I do.
The first time we walked the campus after Syd had made his decision to go there, seed pods from Sweet gum trees were everywhere. I picked up one and couldn't seem to drop it, a lump growing in my throat. It sits on my kitchen window sill in a tiny cappuccino cup. It's a little piece I can hold onto after he's gone. Somehow it helps. Red wine and girlfriends also help.
Each time we have gone up to Denton, we have visited the Village church. As we walked in the first time, we were impressed by how low-key it was and how comfortable it felt to us. To Syd.
As we wandered into an area where their coffee was served, a friendly, and actually pretty funny guy approached us and was genuine in his interest in Syd. Taking in Syd's big smile, his loud laugh, his sunny blonde hair that Ben describes as, "a Golden doodle exploded on your head" - the guy says "Ahh, you're going to be that guy."
Syd is indeed "that guy." Another visit, and an older couple from the church approaches Syd with their phone number and promises to take him to lunch in the fall. I almost cry.
As we sing a song I love, the lines "faithful You have been, faithful you will be," resonate with me. I go ahead and cry. I really don't have an issue with crying in public.
God has been pretty darn faithful with us. I know it sounds trite, and something Christians love to say. But I can look at all the good days and all the pretty bad days and know it with certainty. Jesus is not my religion. He is why I'm still around.
I'm cracking the ice in this frozen land. I'm taking my paddle and giving the surface a good whack with all my strength to get me to where I can push out, hard and effectively. It's happening, people.
I haven't read any of these books. I'm frozen in a river that winds between letting go and pushing out. There's also a big box in my study of dorm linens. And storage boxes for under the dorm bed, for the extra towels I will buy Syd. A memory foam pad for his prison-like mattress is also in there. I bought the best one, because who can send off their kid to college with an egg carton foam pad?
The parent orientation at UNT that coincides with Syd's has an overwhelming amount of break-out sessions interspersed with huge amounts of good food and "spirits" in the evening hours. We kind of went with our gut in picking the sessions, and skipped a few to buy clothing in the Union bookstore. There's only so much preparedness a parent can take.
We landed in "how to deal with your student's mental state." I can't remember the actual title, it might have also been called "dispensing your kid's meds." We have a wee bit of mental illness in my family, and a good bit of paranoia in my mind. I pictured Syd, laying on his best memory foam pad, sinking into depression. A naked roommate nearby doing what naked roommates do.
Sidebar: Upon seeing this book in our house, Syd questioned what the issue was with the nakedness of the roommate.
The head psychologist giving the session bugged me a lot with his hippy ways and open shirt; and a majority of the parents there were asking how to get their student's ADHD meds. I perked up when I heard they have several therapy dogs in the "mental office." Again, probably not what they called it.
As our paths intersected with Syd's during the orientation, I fill him in on how we are spending our time. Eating chocolate cake, joining parent associations, and generally ignoring all the other parents. I'm telling Syd about the therapy dogs and he's looking at me with concern. As if I need a therapy dog.
Maybe I do.
The first time we walked the campus after Syd had made his decision to go there, seed pods from Sweet gum trees were everywhere. I picked up one and couldn't seem to drop it, a lump growing in my throat. It sits on my kitchen window sill in a tiny cappuccino cup. It's a little piece I can hold onto after he's gone. Somehow it helps. Red wine and girlfriends also help.
Each time we have gone up to Denton, we have visited the Village church. As we walked in the first time, we were impressed by how low-key it was and how comfortable it felt to us. To Syd.
As we wandered into an area where their coffee was served, a friendly, and actually pretty funny guy approached us and was genuine in his interest in Syd. Taking in Syd's big smile, his loud laugh, his sunny blonde hair that Ben describes as, "a Golden doodle exploded on your head" - the guy says "Ahh, you're going to be that guy."
Syd is indeed "that guy." Another visit, and an older couple from the church approaches Syd with their phone number and promises to take him to lunch in the fall. I almost cry.
As we sing a song I love, the lines "faithful You have been, faithful you will be," resonate with me. I go ahead and cry. I really don't have an issue with crying in public.
God has been pretty darn faithful with us. I know it sounds trite, and something Christians love to say. But I can look at all the good days and all the pretty bad days and know it with certainty. Jesus is not my religion. He is why I'm still around.
I'm cracking the ice in this frozen land. I'm taking my paddle and giving the surface a good whack with all my strength to get me to where I can push out, hard and effectively. It's happening, people.