Our Freshman Orientation Sleepover Experience, Firsthand

I remember the first time that my daughter had a sleep-over. She was seven years old, was still playing with stuffed animals, and loved to watch “Little Bear”. Her best friend at the time, Amanda, had invited her to spend the night; their plan was to watch TV until they fell asleep, snack on popcorn, and play with their Barbie dolls.

I also remember going out at midnight to pick her up from said sleep-over.

My daughter never liked to be far from home, even as a child. Whenever we would go to Florida on vacation, she always got homesick. We had a habit of taking long trips at that time, in order for her to get the entire “vacation experience”; most of our vacations lasted anywhere from 9 to 14 days. Of course, we would come back to loads of “vacation bills”, but we felt it was worth it. We wanted her to have wonderful memories of grand places.

And so, when I left her at the college of her choice for a two day orientation that required a sleep-over, you can imagine where my mind slipped back to. Of course, it went back to a time of Barbie dolls, Little Bear, and times of “Mommy and Me”. Yes, I spent a lot of time in her room, and I even slept there for a night, if only to feel that old familiar feeling for one moment in time.

Yes, I got the text, later on that day, asking why she had to stay. She tried to let me know that the lectures that she was attending were “stupid”, and that she really shouldn’t be there, since she “knew everything already” from speaking with new friends who had attended previous orientations. This certainly was not the “college experience” that was promised at the initial lecture for parents. She was not having a good time, and she wanted out. She also made it quite clear that she would never have anything to do with dorming, as the rooms were incredibly small and hot, and if you didn’t get a good roommate, you were a goner. Apparently, she hadn’t gotten someone in her room that she could bond with; their only form of conversation was a “Hey” and a nod as they entered the room, late after the lectures were finally over. There was no television, no wi-fi, and she found it to be incredibly boring. So much for the whole “college experience”.

My experience was a little different, mind you. I imagined the feeling of what other parents must be going through, right about now, as the time fast forwards to the day when they must move their children to their dorms for the upcoming school year. My heart literally broke when I tried to put myself into that position. I found a new respect for those who courageously are putting up a front for their children, so that they will not worry about their parents while away. My heart shattered when I realized that the childhood years are far behind us; those days of “Little Bear” and “Santa Claus” and Barbie dolls and playgrounds are a distant memory. The lecturers at the college had warned parents in the audience about the “roller coaster ride of emotions during this transition”. I think I experienced just about all of them in a matter of twelve hours or so.

The feeling of leaving her at the school was a challenge in itself. When the orientation leaders asked the parents to bid their children goodbye, I tried very hard not to let my emotions get the best of me. The segment of the ice cream social with parents and students was listed as “Sweet Goodbyes”. Really? Reading that phrase alone had almost brought me to tears. And I was only leaving her for two days. So, like I watched her go into the elementary school on the first day of kindergarten, I watched her become swallowed by the mass of students that made their way from the commons to the campus itself, and I felt that wave of emotions almost topple me.

I found a bathroom nearby, in the hopes of staving off the tears. It worked; a few splashes of water after a long day of a boatload of information helped me to feel a little better. I began the long trek through the campus property, and came upon her tour group. I saw the little child as she waved with her adult hand, and a new wave of emotion flooded me. I had to dart into the bookstore nearby to calm myself again, before I got behind the wheel.

I exited the bookstore, a few minutes later, and as Fate would have it, I bumped into her group again. This time, I kept walking, as I saw her smile at me and wave; the little girl in her eyes begged in vain for me to take her home, and I had to smile and turn away. The tears were falling in earnest now, as I felt her eyes boring a hold into my back. I wanted, more than anything else in the world, to grab her from the group, take her home, and promise her that it was all going to be okay. But that would defeat the purpose of her learning independence. And so, as I now trotted to my vehicle, I held onto the hope that she would gain from the experience.

Yes, I waited until I was completely out of sight from the group before I allowed my shoulders to heave. I have to admit, it was the longest drive home of my life.

I returned to the campus later that evening, because my daughter has dietary restrictions, and could not eat what had been offered in the dinner buffet, save for iceberg letttuce and a few shreds of carrot. The mommy in me had packed her several protein bars and some special bread in her overnight bag, but that was back at her dorm, and it was required that she spend time with the group. I realize that bringing her food for the night, as well as for the next day, defeated the purpose of teaching her to be independent. But I jumped at the chance to do something for her. I found her in the commons with a group of new friends, and she looked rather pale from the lack of food. She had that look in her eyes, that “Mommy, please take me home” fear. But I smartly patted her shoulder, told her that everything was going to be fine, and trotted off across the university grounds to drive home. This time, the trip didn’t seem so lengthy.

I’m not going to tell you that it wasn’t difficult to leave her there. I found a few moms that felt the same way during the day; one even asked me if there was a “crying room” for parents. I had to laugh at that analogy to the “crying room” for children in churches in days past, but it truly wasn’t far off from the emotions that I was feeling, that we were all feeling, that parents of dorm-bound students are facing now. There should be a crying room for parents. There should be a place where people can go, to find support, as they watch their children, some first timers, some their only time, embark on a journey that will shape and change all of their lives. There should be a place where we can give each other a hug, even if it elicits great upheavals of emotion, in order to let others know that we care.

I fought the urge to bring her home, and I told her to stay, as hard as it was for me, as a parent. I wanted to take her home, but I realized that, in the end, I would be robbing her of an experience of a lifetime. She didn't want to go away to college, but at least this was the next best thing. And I'm proud of myself for not giving in this time, as tough as it was.

And so, I end this work today with this message to all parents out there: I’m here for you. You have done a wonderful job. Your children are beautiful, wonderful beings, and they will make you even prouder than they ever have before. It’s okay to cry, as you leave them and make that lonely, sad walk back to your vehicles. It’s okay to cry, when you look at their empty rooms, and it’s okay to even sleep in their beds, hug their favorite teddy bear, or even look back on a photo album to a time when they were younger and more dependent on you. It’s all perfectly normal; the unknown is a really scary place. So go ahead, circle the date on your calendar when they come home with pink marker or red marker and surround it with many hearts. It’s more than okay to let others help you through the experience. I’m writing this for all of you. I love you all, and I know that if we all lean on each other, we’re going to get through it together. My child might not be going away, but things are definitely going to change, and that’s okay. And before you know it, your children will be home, the first semester will be a distant memory. One of the college lecturers told the parents at orientation that their children always come back home. I believe that, and I believe that when they return, they will be stronger, brighter, and more independent than ever before. It will forge new relationships for all of us.

And for us, as parents, as Kanye West sang, “That that don’t kill me, can only make me stronger.” We are going to be stronger as individuals for this experience. And when we help each other through it, we are going to be stronger as a whole. Remember, no man is an island. We help each other to become strong. Much love to you all, and know that I’m here for you.