Smoke and Mirrors

Yesterday went as well as could be expected.
The “move” was fairly easy.
The cars carrying the new students were stopped and a colored piece of cardboard was placed on the dashboard with the name of the dorm and student’s room number.
When you pulled up to the proper dormitory, upperclassmen would descend on the truck or car and carry all the student’s belongings to the appropriate room.
We just sat back and watched.

It was a beaut of a day making me wonder how different the mood would be had it been raining.
The morning progressed with a series of borderline uncomfortable introductions between roommates and parents, everyone sizing up the other subconsciously as boxes were opened, computers set up and sheets stretched onto dormitory-size beds.
Everything was going fairly well until I realized that Sarah needed an Ethernet cable to connect her laptop to the internet. Oops.
A trip to the bookstore produced a severely overpriced cable.
For any college student, the ability to connect to the internet is no longer optional, it’s mandatory; the times they are a changing. The morning flew by quickly as we moved furniture and ran wires and extension cords, plugged in TV’s and tested out printers.
When the room was set it was late afternoon and time to head outside to the “Mass of the Holy Spirit”, a special service held each year for freshman and their families.
The school is primarily a Jesuit institution that places much emphasis on not only the religious aspects associated with college life but the discovery of the divine in its simplest form, our everyday lives.
Up to this point, my wife and I had been doing fine, emotionally speaking.
Towards the end of the Mass, the class of 2009 was asked to stand as was the entire faculty.
It was explained to the 1,000+ people attending that there were special moments in a child’s life that called for a benediction and today was certainly one of them.
The faculty was instructed to face the students and raise their hands as a “teacher’s” prayer was read.
As the faculty took their seats, parents were asked to stand and embrace their child as another final prayer was read. There was nary a dry eye on the hill, including my own.
It felt right.
I can only say that it was a bittersweet moment for my wife and me, maybe a bit of solace as well.

As I prepared to say goodbye to Sarah, I found there were no words coming out of my mouth.
I felt so stupid.
She was crying as well but managed to whisper in my ear, “I love you, Daddy.”
I somehow managed to whisper the same message back to her before we separated and stood looking at each other.

“You take care of yourself, ok?” I said, still sniffling.

“I’ll be fine.”

“And please don’t forget to call your mother. She’s a mess.”

“I will. Promise. Bye, Dad.”

“Bye, Kiddo.”

I watched her walk away as the dormitory doors suddenly swung open taking her inside her new (albeit, temporary) home.