Life Matters – College Angst

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Lately I’ve felt anxious. It isn’t terrible – considering that I haven’t had to reach for a paper bag or call the EMTs – but there are definitely long moments when my heart is squeezed and my temperature fluctuates like the slide on a trombone. After years of looking ahead and planning for my children to leave the nest, I am facing the reality that my son is now junior in high school and behind the eight ball in making college plans.

Last week I was walking through the grocery store, consulting my shopping list, when a wave of apprehension washed over me. Could my son plan and shop for a meal on his own? Does he know how to do laundry? Buy stamps? Balance a checkbook? Iron a dress shirt? What had I taught him? What had I neglected to teach him for that matter? I spoke to him about it at dinner that evening.

“Why is everyone suddenly freaking out about test scores and class rank and me getting a job?” he said.

“It’s not so sudden.” I tried to keep from sighing. “You just haven’t been hearing us all along.” My son’s jaw jutted out and he lowered his eyebrows into a glowering scowl. It’s what I refer to as his vulture face.

“I know you’re not interested in looking online at colleges and registering for the ACT but the alternative is standing at the highway off ramp holding a sign that says, ‘My parents tossed my out because I’m LAZY’.” His vulture brows shot up. I could tell that he was weighing the seriousness of my comment.

“And you need to learn how to sew on a button and cook Ramen Noodles,” I suddenly switched gears.

The vulture face morphed into confusion. “Huh?”

“It’s not just about your schooling. It’s about life skills. What are you going to do if a button falls off your shirt right before class? I asked.

“Change my shirt?” he was guessing.

“Then what?”

“What do you mean?”

“After you change your shirt and go to class you’re going to return to the dorm to find the shirt that you took off. It won’t have sprouted a new button while you were gone. What are you going to do with the shirt THEN?”

“Probably just hang it in the back of my closet so I don’t wear it again. Or start wearing t-shirts to class.”

My husband snickered. My daughter rolled her eyes.

“Are you JOKING?!” I shrieked.

My son’s face looked a little alarmed at my tone of voice. The angst was bubbling up inside me. An imaginary voice chanted in my head: What kind of mother flings her baby to the cruel world without teaching him to sew on a button? A BAD mother, that’s who!

I picked my glass up and walked across the kitchen to the sink. “You do know that you shouldn’t put a knife in the dishwasher with the blade up, right? And never, EVER drop a sharp knife into a sink with soapy water in it because you won’t be able to see where it is and you might cut your finger off.”

“Uh, sure Mom.”

“And girls use tears to get what they want, so watch out.” I was feeling a little close to tears myself. My hand was shaking as I filled the glass with water.

My husband pushed back from the table and stood behind me. He looked over at our kids. “Do you know what makes everything better?”

“Coffee?” My son was grasping at straws. His sister whacked his arm then jumped up and joined us at the sink. She hooked her arms around me and her dad and looked back at her brother. “Duh. A HUG.”

My son sighed and drug himself over to where we were standing. He draped himself over the three of us awkwardly and let out a long sigh. “Does this mean I don’t have to learn how to sew?”