Just days before 9/11, the Class of 2005 entered college. That morning, after working out with his ski team friends and attending an English class, my son Jason walked into the school cafeteria. There on a large screen TV were images of the horrible destruction in New York where his older brother was living and working. My phone rang incessantly that day, but one of the most poignant calls came from Jason. “Is my brother okay?” The relief in his voice was palpable when I explained that as far as I knew, his brother was fine and uptown at his job.
When I was in college, people encouraged me to enjoy myself because these were the best years of my life. In some ways, they were. I was living away from home for the first time, it was easy to meet a variety of people my age, and choosing a program from the course catalogue was like being exposed to an exotic feast. But the late 60’s and early 70’s were turbulent times to be a student; the usual phase of self-doubt felt multiplied as we questioned our own beliefs and those of the adults around us.
I’m guessing that Jason’s college years were not much smoother. Yes, he has been at school in a particularly bucolic part of western Massachusetts in a quiet town where the residents cater to the students in their midst. I know he has enjoyed his friendships, he’s risen to the challenges that being part of a division one sport have dished out, and he has grown intellectually and academically. Being at a tough school gave him no choice but to work hard and focus. He has definitely taken some pride in his effort.
But there’s no question that we live in less secure times and even though this administration tries to paint a different picture, we continue to be at war. Against the backdrop of a world filled with hotspots is a leafy campus where my son has dealt with one close friend being accused of rape and another’s suicidal tendencies. I know he would still say that these have been great years, that he has loved his time at this college even though he’s ready to move on to the next phase of his life.
When he lines up in his cap and gown to march in the commencement procession, I’ll be emotional because this is my youngest who is graduating and I’m very proud of the young man he has become. Not only did he deal with a tibia/fibula fracture at his ankle while a freshman that required three surgeries, but also he defended one friend and protected another in an honorable way. In a calm moment, I’ll tell him that for many reasons, these have been wonderful times. But I have to imagine that even better years are coming, just a bit further in the future.
