Moving In
by Brent Olson
Independently Speaking
Publication Date  9-2-99

     Our oldest daughter went off to college last week.  It was an
unusual experience for all
concerned.  There were two things about the event that struck me.
First, I remember
when I went off to college I was independent, mature, and clearly an
adult.  When did they
start letting twelve year olds go to college?  I mean, we arrived at the
campus and the
whole place was full of children.  And some of them were working at the
registration
table.  I don't understand it.  Either everyone on that college campus
was very, very young
or I am getting very, very old.
     The other thing I noticed was all the stuff that these new students
couldn't live
without.  I went off to college with everything I owned on the back of
my motorcycle.
Times have changed.  No, that's not right.  Times haven't just changed,
they've leaped
into a whole new dimension.  I saw minivans crammed to the ceiling.  I
saw convoys of
cars all filled with stuff for one student.  I saw U-Haul trailers and
at least one moving
van.  The variety of junk was amazing.  There were the usual stereos and
computers, but I
saw one girl with two pairs of snow skis (it's August!), a guy with a
great big recliner and
someone brought one of those enormous hanging bamboo chairs, that was
still out on the
lawn when I left.  It might still be there for all I know.
     One thing that hasn't changed is how small dorm rooms are.   The one
my daughter
shares has two tiny beds, two tiny desks, two closets and ONE dresser.
We thought it
was a mistake, the one dresser that is, but when I went and talked to
someone official,
they told me no, those two young women are to share one dresser.  Going
back into that
room and breaking the news to them was probably the bravest thing I've
ever done.
     My daughter's room is on the fourth floor.
     Six flights of stairs.
     No elevator.
     For several reasons, the stuff-carrying duties fell almost
exclusively to me.  I joined the
long line of sweaty dads plodding up and down the stairs.  Have you ever
seen that
famous picture of the Alaskan Gold Rush?  The one where there's this
long line of people
carrying all their worldly possessions up the side of a mountain.  It
was like that, only
hotter.
     Later in the day things started to get ugly.  I saw one dad sitting
on a bike rack taking
deep breathes from his inhaler, and right next to him sat another dad
sucking just as
fervently on a cigarette.
     All in all, it was a very interesting day.  This is the second time
we've sent one of our
children out into the world.  When our son joined the Marine Corps I
didn't need to carry
anything because all he needed was a pair of running shoes and a
toothbrush.  Of course,
sending him off to boot camp rather than a campus was a lot scarier for
all concerned.
     There is one part of this whole experience that I fail to
understand.  Almost from the
time our children were born we've been doing our best to teach them to
be strong,
independent, and eager to experience the world.  We must have done
something right,
because the two that are old enough were ready to go when the time came.

     So, if what we've been working toward most of our lives has worked
out just the way
we wanted, why does it make us cry?

copyright 1999 Brent Olson