Joe College

It's almost noon on Wednesday morning and I'm driving my son to the community college campus where he's dual enrolled for the summer in English Comp and Introduction to Sociology. He doesn't seem very enthusiastic about this latest adventure in learning. Maybe it has something to do with the layover he's got between his classes.

"What am I supposed to do for 2 1/2 hours?" he whines.

"Explore, why don't you? Go in and out of all the buildngs. Find the library, check out the bookstore, see where everyone hangs out," I say.

He looks unconvinced.

"You could do your homework," I offer.

"Pfft," he says. "Maybe I'll just find a place to sleep."

I know he was up late the night before, talking online with his friends. Not for the first time, I find myself wishing his friends' parents were better at enforcing bedtime curfews than I am. I think about asking him if he'd like to stay home today. But I have a policy about calling in sick for school. You have to be throwing up to stay home. If you're not throwing up you don't get to call in sick. My son looks bone tired this morning but he's not sick. Besides, this is the first class of the summer semester. He has to go.

He leans his head against the window and pretends to be asleep. "Whoof," he mutters. I ignore him.

I know what his problem is. I recognize the signs. He doesn't want to go to school at the community college. He wants to cuddle up to the computer in his bedroom instead, talking and typing with his friends online. It's warm and familiar on the internet. He knows everybody there and they know him. Community college is scary. Anything can happen to you out in the real world.

My son has always had trouble fitting into the role of brilliant student that I wanted for him. He ignored all attempts to help him organize his work, instead crumpling and jamming his papers any old way into his books. I could spend any amount of money on school clothes every fall and it wouldn't matter since he wore his shirts inside out and backwards anyway, claiming it was "his look."

I remember when he going through a particularly slovenly period in middle school and I put my foot down and told him he had to change his shirt and underwear at least once a day. It was months later that I discovered he was layering on five t-shirts at the beginning of the week, then taking one off every school day. In hindsight, I probably shouldn't have let him get away with it, but it seemed funny at the time.

Today we get to the campus and I walk to the bookstore with him to get his book for his sociology class. There's a line at the checkout that reaches nearly to the back of the store. This is not good. My son is already nervous about college. If we have to wait here for very long it means he's going to be late for his first class of the day. But there doesn't seem to be any choice. He needs this book for his evening class.

After a while we become aware of the muted commentary offered by three girls standing behind us and realize that they're directly contradicting everything one of the cashiers is telling her current customer.

Cashier: "You have to pre-pay for us to order the book for this class."

Girls: "Huh-uh." "Don't do it." "Ain't happenin'."

Cashier: "We'll call you as soon as it comes in."

Girls: "No way." "Huh-uh." "I'm warnin' you."

Cashier: "If it's not the right book, you can return it for a store credit."

Girls: "Don't believe her." "It's a lie." "Huh-uh."

By the time we leave the store, my son is laughing out loud, much less worried, and indeed late for class. I could kiss those girls, but they'd likely not stand for it. ("Huh-uh." "Don't do it." "Back off, yo.")

As we head towards the building where his English Comp class is he separates from me and runs up the stairs to the second floor. "See you later," I call and he turns and waves, then takes the remaining steps two at a time.

I walk to the car and tell myself it's going to be fine. He'll like his classes, he'll enjoy his professors, and he'll find a place to fit in. That's the good thing about community college. There are all sorts of people here. Older people trying to improve their situations, younger people being prodded by their controlling parents. He's bound to find people like himself. Friends in the real world to go along with his virtual ones.

It's not like it's the first time I've watched a child grow up and become more independent. It's just the first time I've seen it happen with this particular child. It's hard letting go of the kid you think you know in order to for him to become the person he knows he is. It's okay, though. We're going to go through this learning experience together.