Freshman College Transitions - Tips for Kids and Parents

Every mother knows that the day will come when her "baby boy " will leave home. Some of us await it with nervous trepidation and others look forward to the day when his dirty track socks, piles of video games cluttering the family room and tomato stained pizza boxes and empty coke cans won't fill up the family garbage cans. He, on the other hand, has no ambivalence about the eventual move. He awaits it with joyful intensity! Freedom!! From parental rule, from Mom's advice, from Dad's lectures. Freedom to do whatever he wants, despite the numerous warnings given to him by Mom and Dad. He knows they are being ridiculously untrusting, that he is mature enough to handle school work, laundry, food, time management, etc. etc. He knows he's ready. Mom, however, is sure he will bomb and fail and come home and live in the basement ....forever! The truth usually lies somewhere between his viewpoint and parental doubt.

When the day arrived for our oldest son to head out the door to a state university located about an hour and a half from our house, he packed the family van with all his worldly possessions which included lots of torn knee jeans, 20 or so band t-shirts, music gear of every describable type including his trusty guitar, and 4 dozen chocolate chip cookies to be used to make friends with the guys in his new dorm. Check in time was noon, he wanted to leave the house at 6 AM! We arrived on campus, hauled his treasures up four flights of stairs and settled him in to what he was sure would be Shangri-la. He practically pushed us down the stairs and out the front door, repeatedly insisting we should get home before dark. It was only 2 in the afternoon. We could see he was ready to explore his new world and so we bravely hugged him and drove off, leaving our first born son to the wolves of college life. I cried all the way home and my husband, trying to rationalize that somehow this change would save him money, gave up half way and joined me in my tears. His from panic at the future bills and me panic at the thought that my son needed me no longer. I was worthless, useless, unnecessary and bereft of all hope.

But then I arrived home to pleas for pizza from our 15 year old, and complaints about a new boyfriend from our 12 year old and tearful cries from our 10 year old that she needed "help" with her science project and reality set in. There were still four children left in my world and so I let my panic go and returned to work as a full time Mom. Oh, I thought of him each day, wondered how he was doing, worried that he wasn't eating right or sleeping enough, but the day to day life of being a busy wife and mother quickly eased my heart and I began to trust our new existence without our baby boy.

The phone rang on Thursday evening, right before I was ready for bed. "Hey Mom, what's up!" He sounded jubilantly happy to talk to me. We conversed about his room mate, his favorite professor, his least favorite class and he shared it all, without me having to pry a single fact from him. He gushed with enthusiastic sharing. And then he asked, "Hey, I left some stuff at home. Uhh.. I was wondering if you could come and get me tomorrow around 2 and I could come home, kind of finish packing that stuff and then you could bring me back on Sunday?"

"Okay.." I answered, "But couldn't I just mail you the stuff. What stuff did you leave?" remembering the packed back of the van. "Oh, no, you wouldn't be able to find it. I can do it easier." He replied casually..but something about his voice made me listen carefully, a certain nervousness, trying to cover up something. Like all rational mothers everywhere, I knew, absolutely knew something terrible had happened. I was right to have worried! He was coming home to stay, to live in the basement forever...

We agreed on pick up time, said our goodbyes and the next day I drove back down to the campus to pick up our first born child and bring him back home. All along the way, thoughts of doom raced through my head. What was wrong? Why was he wanting to come home already? Should I ask him? Should I wait for him to talk? And then I was there and he bounced down the stairs cheerfully, threw a stuffed bag of what could only be dirty clothes into the back seat, gave me a quick hug and said, "Let's go, I'm starved. Can we stop for a hamburger before we leave town?" and with that we re-settled back into Mom and son roles. He put on his earphones, opened up a book and curled up in the front seat where he promptly fell asleep.

On the drive home, I kept glancing over at him. My worry changed to just the joy of seeing his face, remembering all the times I had lovingly looked at that face. The baby we had cuddled in joy and amazement, the little boy who came to me to kiss his hurts away, the young teenager, sobbing in my arms when his first girl friend broke his heart and now this young man, five o'clock shadow on his face but still my baby, coming home for some reason. I decided to not worry, to just be there, like all the other countless times when he needed me. I decided to just be there and wait.

The weekend was great. He teased his brothers, read her favorite story 10 times to his little sister, ate pizza with the whole family and even went to church on Sunday morning with no complaints! On Sunday afternoon, he didn't push to leave early, but around 3 he showed up in the kitchen, packed bag on his back and said, "Hey, you ready to go Mom?" and off we went. Into the van, down the road, taking him to college,...again. The drive back was quiet but friendly, no uncomfortable silences. He listened to music, and every once in awhile, he'd share a tidbit of conversation. That in itself was unusual, but kind of nice. At the school, he hugged me goodbye, wasn't quite so pushy to get me to go, but seemed okay when I did. I thought about him all the way home. Should I have asked if something was wrong. The stuff he had left turned out to be five CD's and two video games. I decided again, to trust this process and I only cried half the way home.

The next two weeks went by swiftly, again busy with home and family. I called him one night. He talked cheerfully but more reserved, said he was doing great and he had to go to a study group. The conversation was short but friendly. And then on Friday morning of that week, he called at home early. "Hey Mom, what's up!" again a joyful good to talk to you Mom, greeting. This time he wanted to come home that weekend, because some old friends were coming in from their school and it was going to be a mini reunion. Never mind that it had been less than a month since he had seen them! I told him that I'd check with his Dad to pick him up because I was taking his little sister to a girl scout weekend. He seemed surprised that I wasn't rushing out the door immediately to come and fetch him.

His dad left from the office to pick him up and when Suzie and I returned home on Saturday evening, there he was, surrounded by the guys in front of the TV playing Guitar Hero. He stopped long enough to give me a huge bear hug and happily returned to the game. Sounds of singing, shrieks of laughter and the low rumbling voices of boys in conversation echoed up from the basement. Dad shrugged his shoulders and raised his eyebrows in perplexity when I began to question him. "I don't know honey. He didn't say anything was wrong. He was happy to see the guys and has been busy with them all weekend." We agreed that perhaps it was just a coincidence, his returning home twice in the first month away at what he had looked forward to as freedom, to return to the prison of his childhood.

Same trip back to school on Sunday....again! We were definitely contributing to global warming with our driving this child to college. Again, a happy goodbye, trivial exchange of jokes and teasing and off we went, our separate ways. Again. I didn't cry at all this time, all the way home.

Two weeks later, another phone call. Another reason why he had to come home that weekend and another trip to fetch him. More conversation with dear husband about the topic. Should we talk to him? We agreed to casually inquire if anything was wrong. On the trip back from school this time, I broached the subject carefully."Hey, kid, is everything okay? Why the need to come home so much?" "What?" he almost yelled it. "There's nothing wrong, Mom. Why do you and Dad always have to find something wrong with me? I'm great, everything is great." When I didn't look so convinced he shook his head and laughed. "Mom, mom. What am I going to do with you?" as though I was the one with all the problems. He was just perfect. Well, at least that was familiar territory.

Another great weekend, friendly, happy, teasing, comfortable and back to school again. And so it continued for the next three months until Christmas break. After Christmas break he was jumping at the bit to return home and then the visits home began to occur at less frequent intervals. Three weeks would go by, and about March it was a month before he called us on a pretty April day and said he'd like to come home to see a school play at his high school. Some friends were in it. And then the end of the year and he had a trip to Mexico planned for church and other projects all summer. He was in and out of the house, pleasantly kind to all of us, but with a new maturity that said. "I'm in charge here. I'm all grown up, making my own decisions, charting my own path". And so he was.

We never discussed the reasons why he felt so strongly that he needed to come home for so many frequent visits. But, like all parents, we knew instinctively that he hadn't been quite so ready for that ultimate freedom of college as he had thought he was. He missed his sisters and brothers, his role as their big brother. The role that he had vowed was hell on earth the previous year! He missed his father's long rambling advice lectures and his mother's cooking, laundry and hugs. He missed the love of his family. But like most 18 year old boys, would that have been cool to admit? No way. So we let him be, let him come to us when he needed us and trusted that he would find his way to the break when the time was right.

It's hard to let go of your baby, but don't worry Mom's, they never really ever leave home. Home is where the heart is and a mother knows that her heart beats forever for her child. Our son learned that truth young and now he is a man, in the world. We watch the love he extends to his wife and to his friends and we know that someday he will love his own son the same way.