A trip down memory lane

They grow up fast, don't they?

My oldest son is a mere month away from the tenth anniversary of his birth. Baby Elvis, as we nicknamed him back then due to his thick dark hair and long sideburns, now watches "Sports Center" religiously and dreams of the type of car he will purchase when he signs his first professional sports contract.

On Sunday, I drove him to the campus of Eastern Michigan University to attend his first overnight sports camp. A five-day, four-night training program established for advanced-level soccer players, the camp included room and board in an authentic, soon-to-be-condemned freshman dormitory.

As we lugged his bags down the narrow hallway to his room, I began to have flashbacks to my first days as a freshman, many moons (and beers) ago.

When I left for college, disco was dying and new wave music was actually "new." Yet some things can still trigger a vivid recollection, things like the pungent, musty odor I detected the moment I walked into my son’s dorm room.

"Wow. I’d forgotten what these rooms smell like."

"You didn’t go here, Dad."

"No, but believe me – dorm rooms all smell the same."

"You mean, gross?"

"You’ll get used to it. In fact, once the year is up, you’ll actually find you miss the smell."

"Yeah, except I’m only gonna be here for five days."

"Oh, right. Well, maybe you won’t get used to it."

I busied myself by helping unpack the month’s worth of clothes, sundries and snacks his mother had packed for him. The kid had more pairs of boxer shorts than K-Mart. He could probably change hourly and still not fully deplete his supply.

"Mom went a little crazy, eh?"

"Dad, you packed my boxers. Remember?"

"Hey – better safe than sorry."

"If you say so."

Soon, music was blaring from his boom box and kids were strolling in to say "Yo" and munch on his snacks.

I sat in the corner and tried to make sense of the memories and emotions racing through my mind.

"You okay, Dad?"

"What? Oh, yeah, I’m fine. I was just thinking about the past. And the future."

"You mean when I go to college?"

"Yeah."

"So what was your first day of college like?"

"Do you really want to know?"

"Yep."

I considered telling him about how my anxiety had led me to go to a party with some kids I had just met and, wanting desperately to fit in, to drink way too much alcohol.

Before I could decide on my answer, one of the camp’s coaches stuck his head in the room to fetch the boys for their orientation meeting.

I gave him a hug goodbye and headed for my car.

Then next evening I returned, partly to bring him the alarm clock he’d forgotten, partly to see how he’d done that first night.

As it turned out, he’d woken up in the middle of the night with a bout of nauseousness that eventually led to an hour of clutching the toilet and vomiting. Mild food poisoning was the diagnosis.

"I’ve been okay all day today," he said in response to my concerned expression.

"You sure?"

"Yeah, I’m sure."

We sat together for a moment without saying a word.

"Hey," I said, "remember when you asked me what my first day of college was like?"

"Yeah?"

"Well, now you know."

Copyright 2003 Marc L. Prey
All rights reserved.