Move In Day on Campus

I had mentioned in an earlier post that I would expand on move-in day on campus at my son's college.  I have a feeling that day is gonna stand out in my mind for years to come.  Not that there was anything truly significant or newsworthy about that day.  Nothing out of the ordinary happened.  Not REALLY.  I think it's more the milestone thing:  "Middle son begins senior year at college."  The beginning of the end -- for college tuition costs for this son, that is.  Thankfully.  (One more to go.)  The tuition at Washington & Jefferson continues to raise each year. And it stings.  It really does.  It puts the skids on the "fun and games" of life more often than I care to dwell on.

Football players had to report to campus earlier than the rest of the student body. They had to be moved into their dorms (not allowed to live off campus, not even as seniors!) by noon on Saturday, the 11th of August, but they couldn't BEGIN moving in until Saturday morning. So we were dealing with a short window of time within which to get all of his "stuff" moved from his packed little Kia (I have no idea how he managed to see to drive) and my car, up the stairs and into his dorm suite before he was due to the mandatory and punctual "lineup" with the football team for their first training meeting and lunch together.  I had brought a load of things that he brought home after the spring semester and that he couldn't fit in his car in one trip.  His father was staying behind to manage commitments dealing with our youngest son, his football practice, training and such.  I was making the trip solo, which I didn't mind at all.  I love driving on long trips by myself.  It's somewhat of an escape for me.  A break in routine.

I drove up to PA that morning, texting him to let him know when I had arrived on campus (he doesn't talk on the phone, he insists on texting.) I asked for directions to his dorm. His description was disjointed and confusing, as I had expected.  And so I drive.  And drive.  Lots of tight and narrow one-way streets, searching for his vehicle -- it's burnt orange, hard to miss -- but no luck. I'm back to where I started. I pulled to the curb, squeezing into a no-parking zone, and texted him again.

"I'm sitting in front of a small basketball court, a parking lot to the left and behind me. Where are YOU?  I'm lost."

I get another very abbreviated text message, slightly more helpful than the last.  (Am I that dense?)  After two more circles around the block and then a quick, last-minute hard left down a small alley, I finally discover his little orange Kia parked in a small private parking lot outside his dorm--the infamous "senior dormitory" he'd been waiting three years to move into. The senior dorms are so much nicer than those for underclassman. Sweet.  A Suite!

His hatch was open and he was nowhere in sight. His stuff was trailing out of the back of his car, all in disarray, no rhyme or reason to his packing. LOTS.OF.STUFF.  Yep, that's his car all right.

As I'm parking, I looked across the lawn to see him exiting the first floor doorway, looking around for something to prop the door open to make the moving easier. He goes back inside and re-emerges with a GIGANTIC colonial-styled exterior lantern-sconce, wires trailing from it. This was no small fixture.

Please tell me he didn't just pull that off of a wall.

He places the monstrous sconce on the ground against the door, just as two parents are approaching the dorm with questionable looks on their faces. I didn't have to claim him at this point, being several feet behind them. I could stand back, wait it out. Be there to bail him out if campus police were notified. As odd as this seemed, it WAS rather comical.

"So if you can't find a door prop, just remove the lanterns and use that instead," they said laughingly. He laughs back.

The sconce, it turns out, had been removed from the exterior of the building by Maintenance earlier that morning for cleaning, repairs, etc., and was waiting for remount.

He saunters to me in his typical "BigG" way, that recognizable cocky gait of confidence. His hair had grown long over the summer, and he'd dropped a lot of body fat, which served to highlight his muscularity and size. I stand there staring at him, with a proud smile forming on my face.  Massive traps, shoulders, arms, and the iconic bodybuilder butt -- tight, round, high and chiseled. Yes, I'm bragging on his butt.  It's okay.  I'm his mom.  I can do that.  I've been there to witness his hard dedication, commitment, effort, and sacrifices to get that hard body, and he wears it well.  As a noseguard, I was used to seeing the SIZE -- he's one big dude -- but with far more "bulk." Now I was seeing the size, noticeably leaner, far more definition and musculature.  Big G?  Lean?  Would his coach approve? Questionable. They want their noseguards as big as they can get 'em.  He may have to return to his signature insatiable eating habits.

We spent the next hour plus moving his things into the dorm. I met two of his teammates/roommates, both of whom commented openly (and favorably) on his longer hair and his conditioning. He ate it up. "Thas right, I'm lookin' mean and lean," he's thinking. I read it on his face, in his body language. The Ham.  King of the Hill.

His room was more spacious than in years past, well-furnished, great view of campus, central air, a large living room area and kitchen in each quad. Someone had already moved a gigantic flat-screen into the living room. Priorities. His bedroom had a large closet with shelving above and below, more than ample to hang and store his clothes and belongings in an orderly fashion.

"Will you please hang your clothes up this year instead of leaving them in trash bags, baskets, boxes or strung all over the floor? There is plenty of space here, and you'll be able to find everything easier if you keep your stuff organized."

"Yeah. Sure."

Man of many words. 

And I'm sure mine fell on deafened ears.

We joked around, discussing random subjects briefly. I then implored him with my eyes, a signal that I was about to make The Speech, reminding him how important it was to apply himself this year toward his studying, his grades. Make this year his best. Make it count. Focus. Really focus. It was his last year and he needed to make it mean something toward his future career goals. He had the rest of his life to pursue personal interests, relationships, etc.

"I know. I've already thought about this," he said reassuringly.

I reached up and hugged his broad shoulders.  He hugged me back tightly, and with feeling, a lingering strong embrace. That one display of affection spoke far louder than all of the words we had exchanged in recent days.

"I'm proud of you, Gavin. Make it happen this year.  Make it count."

"I will, Mom."

"I love you, son."

"I love you."

"Well, it's time for y'all to go eat and get started training. Show 'em how it's done, K?"

"You know I will."

"Let us hear from you in a few days. Okay?"

"Yep."

"Later...," and I turned to start down the steps, my heart feeling heavy. Happy and sad all rolled into one.

"See ya, Mom."

And as I walked down the steps, down the hall, and out to my car, I stopped to look around me at the beautiful historic campus. Talking and laughter filled the air as athletes made their way to and from the dorms, parents saying their goodbyes. In a flash, my mind was escorted back into time, sixteen years previous. A little rough-n-tough boy is smiling and talking with other children, making friends, fearless, void of the typical anxiety of "first day of kindergarten," a new territory.  He turns to wave once more at his mother who had left the classroom moments before and was now standing paused outside the window, looking in, needing assurances that it was okay to go now...he will be fine...and she sees the look on his face...I'll be fine, Mommy...and turns away just as her tears begin again.

Another milestone.  The beginning of his final year of schooling.

It takes my breath away -- How can that many years pass so quickly?

One thing is for sure:  He's as fearless today as he was sixteen years ago.

That's my son.

his name is gavin.

(Written by his younger brother for a class assignment.)

(With big brother Z)

Live daringly, boldly, fearlessly.

Taste the relish to be found in competition,

in having put forth the best within you.

Harry J. Kaiser