I am a crier and yet I don't cry when I drop my son off at college.
I don't cry.
I am a crier and yet I don’t cry when I drop my son off at college. We all go, my wife Cathlin and our daughter Pickle (her nickname), and I don’t cry, not when we pack the car or drive onto the ferry to leave the Island.
I don’t cry when we hit the highway, heading south. I don’t cry mostly because Hardy and Pickle are arguing in the backseat and I am reminded of another drive so many years ago when they were still quite young and arguing and annoying me from the backseat. I pulled off the highway into a dingy gas station, told them to get out of the car, sat them down on a curb and drove away.
It is the stuff of legend now, the time Dad left the kids at a roadside curb (Cathlin, of course, was not with us that day) and didn’t return for hours or a day. In fact, it was only two minutes and I didn’t drive out of sight, just 20 yards or so.
I don’t cry because I am wondering about the new father I once was, so exhausted and confused I would resort to scaring my children to get them to behave. Thankfully, Hardy and Pickle are laughing about that memory now, a family heirloom like so many other moments, both good and bad.
I don’t cry when we pull up to the college and unpack the car. I don’t cry when we enter Hardy’s dorm room, or when I run back downstairs to park the car so other parents can pull into my spot in front of the dorm.
I don’t cry after parking the car when I encounter another family saying goodbye, the college freshman hugging her little brother so hard she lifts him into the air, his small sneakers dangling as his body shakes with tears. I almost cry when I see the father standing by the side of the car, a burly man in cut-off sleeves with a huge tattoo circling his calf. He is leaning against the car, one arm outstretched for support while his body is folded in two and his tears spill onto the sidewalk.
I almost cry then, but not quite.
I don’t even cry in the tunnel of tears, a name Pickle gives to a small alcove that connects the dorm courtyard to the street. Parents linger there after their final goodbye so their children can’t see them fully break down as they rest their heads against this solid brick wall and let loose.
I don’t cry on the drive home or when I pull into the driveway and see the house, listing it seems as it prepares to welcome back three not four. I don’t cry when we walk through the door and the dog rushes us and then pauses after greeting us one by one, and looks expectantly at the doorway for another person to walk through.
I don’t cry that night, while lying in bed wide awake recalling the Halloween when Hardy dressed as a lobster, the costume made entirely out of red Solo cups and plates, a creation made by Cathlin. I don’t cry thinking about Legos, the Redwall books, picking up Hardy at pre-school when each day for nearly six months he made me sit at a small table in the hallway and feed him a maple yogurt and read Animalia to him while all the other parents headed to the playground.
I don’t cry when I remember Cathlin’s breast cancer diagnosis, when all we knew was fear but we sat down with Hardy because we wanted to be open with him about the hard road ahead. And seven-year old Hardy looked at us and nodded, and then got out his crayons and filled a page with cancer villains, each one with a sinister mustache, and then slashed X’s through them.
I don’t cry thinking about laughing with him, cooking with him, asking him to stop reading me the news headlines each morning about the horrors of the world..
I don’t cry at any of these moments, and although I wonder why I have no answers.
I don’t cry on that first morning at home when I wake up, make my coffee and walk downstairs to my writing room. I light a candle and reach for my pencil and pad. But then I sense a movement behind me and turn to look at the rocking chair in the corner and I see Hardy there, at age six or seven. He did not visit every morning but often enough, up early like me. He always brought a book with him and snuggled in the chair, reading quietly while I wrote. And when I finished and he put down his book, we would walk up the stairs together, ready to greet the day.
I remember walking up the stairs, his small hand in mine, knowing that whatever happened that day, all I had to do was recall this moment with my son and everything would be okay.
And that is when I begin to cry.
Comments
Well, I am crying now...
Patricia ChilmarkWell, I am crying now...
We are lucky we get to send our beautiful boys off to their next adventures.
Bill, your writing is
Vicki ChilmarkBill, your writing is beautiful. I didn't cry reading this piece. Until the last line and then I joined you.
excellent story i cried at
rob the roofer new jerseyexcellent story i cried at the end when you did.
Thanks for the great share.
Christopher CarterThanks for the great share. Our oldest of 3 sons is off to college tomorrow and I’m not sure how composed we will be. Best wishes!
I'm beginning to cry reading
Linda NantucketI'm beginning to cry reading this. Beautiful piece Bill. Thank you.
Same feelings, different
Andrew Oak BluffsSame feelings, different family......we are blessed to have such Love in our lives. At the drop off of my child, I barely made it out of the dorm before the tears started flowing. In a SUV out on the street, a large navy seal looking man, sitting behind the wheel of a huge SUV,
was a similar emotional mess. We glanced directly at each other and I felt I had known him all of my life.
I knew you would cry. And I
Laurie Howick Oak BluffsI knew you would cry. And I knew you would make me cry. Thanks Bill for another wonderful share.
Bill, touching writing as
Larry Kramer MEDFIELDBill, touching writing as always. And we've emailed about Dads and crying. Glad you held it together until back home. Drop offs are memories to treasure as they are sad but happy tears. I never held it, as the running joke amongst now three Kramer daughters in their mid 20s was to see their father's shoulders go up and down when hugging goodbye at any college, dorm, break, Logan airport as they knew I was crying. Enjoy upcoming Parent's Weekend then home for Thanksgiving!
I cried the whole time
BrenI cried the whole time reading this. I’m a crier. Love to you all.
Well, I started to cry at the
Nelia Decker West tisburyWell, I started to cry at the mention of the. Redwall series. As just one of Hardy’s children’s librarians, the memories of him enjoying so many wonderful books will stay with me always. Thanks Bill for sharing that story.
Well I cried all the way
Mona Rosenthal CaliforniaWell I cried all the way through this, sobbing by the end. You’re my favorite writer Bill.
Beautifully written. Thank
Joan Carey EdgartownBeautifully written. Thank you!
I am crying. I have done this
Elizabeth S EdgartownI am crying. I have done this three times (most recently last year) and all without incident or regret on any of our parts and yet it is still emotional to me every time I think of this for my family or any family navigating this super exciting and yet gut wrenching stage of life. Best of luck to Hardy, I hope he has a wonderful college experience.
Also, I just want to say thank you for your beautiful weekly commentary. My husband and I have a ritual that involves walking to coffee each Saturday morning with me reading your work aloud to him, we always look forward to what you will write about. Good luck with the chickens and with missing your boy. And thank you!
Some things are simply just
Harry Seymour Oak BluffsSome things are simply just worth crying about, even when reading about. Beautiful piece.
Oh gosh - I remember feeding
CarrieOh gosh - I remember feeding him the maple yogurt and seeing pictures of the lobster costume and it is just unbelievable to me that Hardy can be in college. Thank you for these beautiful words. I have friends who can relate and before I know it I’ll be able to relate too.
I cried the second I began
Dina MassachusettsI cried the second I began reading - having sent off 5 in different directions -2 off to college - 1-to another country to play professional hockey / another to basic training in the army and one little piggy stayed home !
We long for the change and yet want so much for life to stay the same !
I've read this piece 3 times
Susan L. Vineyard HavenI've read this piece 3 times and the bittersweet feelings of both joy and sadness fill me each time. And the tears have run freely each time too. We took our twins to college 22 years ago this fall. Your essay touches on all the emotions we parents feel. Thank you, Bill Eville, once again, for evoking so much in an essay.
I don't have children but I
Linda Bunce OberlinI don't have children but I cried!
Three times, I dropped off my
Pris Robichaud Bedford, NHThree times, I dropped off my children at college. Three times lugging and sorting all the ‘stuff’ they needed. The fun we had picking everything out. Three times crying on the way home, little tears because I was driving. Now, we are on to grandchildren. Laughing and loving and missing.
We took our only child to a
Sue Cleveland OHWe took our only child to a university 4 hours away. After the extended parent/student orientation, the final night came. In the restaurant—my daughter was crying, my husband who never cries had tears streaming down his face. I was barely holding it together, but decided I could not cry. Someone had to be strong. After we drove away, waving to her until we were out of sight, we stopped at an intersection and I totally lost it. I wailed, I sobbed. Those wracking sobs that leave you exhausted. I could not hold back any longer. It is hard to set you child free into the world, but delightful to see the adult they become.
I’ve cried many times today
Joanne Carpenter Planet EarthI’ve cried many times today for my daughter and son in law who are dropping off their youngest at 4:00 today. Sometime during the long 12 hour drive home to their first time empty of children hom, they will cry. My heart is breaking yet it is such a pisitive moment for my grand daughter.
A wonderful tribute to your
DeNae Kautzmann Mandan, NDA wonderful tribute to your son. Those little traditions we had when our children were young are what we mourn the most.
Beautifully written. I
SherBeautifully written. I skipped having children, and I cried. Thanks.
I never cried during the
Donna M MinneapolisI never cried during the college partings. But 4 years later, when that fairly non athletic son, the son with the sick look on his face the days of middle school mile runs, I cried when he crossed the finish line of his first marathon. Oh, what they become!
So perfectly captures how
Jennifer Atzberger Bay VillageSo perfectly captures how this moment of our children growing up and away from us both hits us like a sledgehammer and sneaks up on us when we least expect it. Even though we know it’s what they need, we also know this change means never going back to how it was.
Oh my. I'm crying. I didn't
Jen OhioOh my. I'm crying. I didn't cry when we dropped our daughter off to her dorm for the first time 2 weeks ago. I was too exhausted from returning from vacation but this. Yeah it's the little things. I think it helped we had just moved so I didn't have those little reminders around.
You captured this moment so
Beth Orwell, OhYou captured this moment so perfectly! It’s been ten years since our first drop off and your writing sent me right back to that moment. The mention of the Redwall series got me…that was my girl too! Oh, that we have been the caretakers of such love in our lives!
Hello, old Friend. Beautiful,
Riaz Patel Los Angeles, CAHello, old Friend. Beautiful, powerful piece. My kids at 5 & 6 now and this was beautiful to receive.
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