The beginning of the end

It was the simplest entreaty, “Have a seat,” yet my throat swelled with emotion. Imagine my surprise.

My daughter and I were standing at the admissions office reception desk at Wheaton College in Norton, MA. It was the first stop on our whirlwind Boston-area college tour.

“Have a seat,” said the nice lady behind the desk, as she handed Callison a blue information card and a clipboard. My eyes teared suddenly. What was going on, I wondered? How could this simple phrase, uttered by a perfectly nice young lady, seated behind a dark wood desk in the sweet Colonial-style cottage that is the admissions office, make me weep?

I had been eager with anticipation all month. Callison was too, but she is much cooler than I am these days, so it was hard to tell from her demeanor. I had been warned not to embarrass her by word or deed. She even encouraged me not to bring my post-injury cane on a tour because it was “too hippie-looking.”

This was a girls-only trip. Not even Aengus the Schnauzer was invited. We lived on sandwiches and nuts and chocolate-covered pretzels. Bottles of water and Yoo-hoo littered our minivan. My daughter’s well-stocked i-Pod provided our soundtrack. We weren’t exactly Thelma and Louise, but I felt a little like a girl on the lam, who was enjoying every minute before her freedom ride ended.

And end it will. I have one more year ahead of me, almost to the day, before my youngest child and only daughter leaves home for good. Yes, I know, it’s just college, you say. But even Callison knows it will be the end of life as we know it. Her realization came a few days after we returned from our trip. “I’ll come home for holidays and stuff,” she said, all wide-eyed and serious like she is, “but once I’m gone to college, Mom, my life will change. It will never be the same.” You’re telling me, sister.

This must have been the sub-text for my sudden throat-clogging at Wheaton. I covered it well. Stuffing my inappropriate emotion back down inside, I took a seat and hid my head in a copy of The New York Times. From then on, my tears stayed put, and Callison was none the wiser.

She loved Wheaton as much as she had hoped she would. I tried not to express an opinion—a feat of strength for me—until she did. I listened as she extolled the virtues of the place—its several individual music practice rooms, each fully sound-proofed and equipped with a Steinway piano, its guaranteed on-campus housing for all undergrads, and 100 percent professor-taught classes. I imagined her catching the Saturday night shuttle bus to Boston or Providence to hang out with friends in Harvard Square or visit her cousin in Rhode Island.

People say you “know” which colleges are for you when you set foot on campus. We found it’s almost true. On our second day of touring schools, we went to Tufts University in Medford, MA. It had seemed the perfect fit for Callison on paper, a “target” school as opposed to a “reach” or “safety” in the college admissions vernacular. A friend’s daughter, who is a senior at Tuft’s and has talents and interests similar to Callison’s, loves it. But Callison didn’t feel the “fit” and we left mid-tour.

As a parent who will foot the bill for four years of college, I found myself attuned to the strangest things. The elevator from the parking garage, for example. It was unusually well-appointed. “Hmmm, I wonder how much this thing cost?” I thought. And then, the rank odor of sewage in the auditorium used for our info session. “Bet that will cost a few undergraduate scholarships to fix.”

There will be more of these tours before the final decision is made. It’s a decision that has many components, not the least of which is “fit.” For now, I’m making the best of this last year of full-time parenting, and keeping my tears at bay. There will be plenty of time for swells of emotion when moving day comes.