Saying "see you soon" is not soon enough...

Middle of summer, 2009 –

We just returned from taking our son to college in the Midwest. We live in the East Coast so why out there, you ask. The only unjust reason I can think of is he wants to stay as far away as he can from his parents. Actually, we gave him a choice to pick a school that would meet the standards that he and we set forth. What made him decide was someone who he worked with as an intern last summer went to the same university and told him how great her experience was. He made a big decision based upon hearsay. A good decision, if I may add. Thus, the journey to his adulthood began with college visits last fall, culminating in his choice of moving out to the Midwest to pursue a degree he has not quite decided yet.

We flew in on a Saturday in the middle of hot August to move him into his dorm by Sunday. It was not lost to us that it took us longer to go to Missouri than to fly from Washington, DC to London, England. We were met with a thunderstorm, a precursor of what to expect in the next few days.

It was a busy day- an organized chaos with adults and would-be-adults moving “stuff.” They were pushing, pulling, carrying, bringing with them computers, mini fridges, microwave ovens, printers, and other accoutrements of the 21st century. I think the move was a moment of truth for our son —he has to share a small room with another student. No longer does he have exclusive use of his own room, play/TV room, computer/study room, and bathroom. Now he has two and a half drawers, a hanging closet that also serves as his pantry, and a storage closet to store his suitcase. There was a tiny desk for his laptop, papers, books, phone, and the printer was put on top of his foot locker. Under his bed were cases of Orange Crush and Fanta Grape soda.

But the ratio of every inch of his space in that tiny room to the size of his freedom is 1 to 10. Imagine - he can eat as much junk if he so chooses; he does not need to do his laundry for the whole semester, he can drink a whole truckload of soda. He can stink as much as he wants for as long as he wants. I gifted him with a can of Febreeze. At last, no longer is his annoying mom fixing his favorite rice and beans, jerked pork and chicken, buying the most gorgeous apples at the little marketplace near home, making popcorn and iced tea to share while watching another one of his silly “Mom, it is so funny, trust me!” videos during those afternoons when his mom is working half days. No longer is his Dad going to ask him twenty thousand questions like, “Did you return the book? When did you return it? Were you late? If so, by how many days? How much did you pay in fees? Now do you realize that you did not have to pay late fees? What lesson did you learn from this experience? ” My son and I have a secret. When he was about twelve, he told me that on his Dad’s second sentence, he (son) is already in Jupiter and in his own orbit. I believe that all three of us were in our own orbits during the move- I am sure my son was in Uranus, I was in Venus, and his Dad was the only one on Earth.

No longer would he hear his parents saying, “Please take your shoes to your room” to his “I will!” progressing to “How many million times will I ask you to take your shoes to your room?” and the final “Take your shoes to your room, right now. I mean, NOW at this moment!” to his “I said I will, calm down, what’s up with you! Calm down. I will do it!” “NOW!” “Ok, jeez, what’s the big deal?”


Here are the “ginzu knives” to sweeten the deal: No longer is he going to take out the trash and clean the cats’ litter box. No longer is his mom going to open his bedroom door and exclaim, “OMG, what died up in here? Is there an alien growing here? How can you breathe? This is an anomaly, no this is abomination. Can Febreeze help this? Clean it. Get rid of your alien. NOW! PLEASE!!” to his “Mom, stay out of my room.” “What do you do on your afternoon off aside from spying in my room?” To which his mom responds, “As long as you are living in this house, you do not have the right to expect reasonable privacy. I will go in your room and spy. I will not read about your secret in the newspapers. That is my and your dad’s job. End of discussion.”

Or, when his mom would say, “You will die if you do not wash your hands! You will die if you do not eat fruits and vegetables! You will die if you drink too much soda!” He always finds it overly dramatic, and I have to agree, but whenever I say that he would die, I am being a Filipino pessimist in my heart. We use the word dying lightly “Sige, pag hindi ka kumain niyan, mamamatay ka.” (Go ahead, if you do not eat that, you will die.) So he laughs and says in a monotone, “Really, mom.”

In reality, I am sure he will not have the patience nor I the time to talk about the dynamics of catching a virus or a life threatening bacteria. When he was young, I would tell him that “munchies” invade and kill and I would have his undivided attention as he conjured visions of the munchies slowly crawling. He is no longer my little boy. “Mommy” gave way to “Mom.” “Kissy gave way to Kris.” Or when I mean business, I say “Kristoffer!” or “Hoy!” (Hey!)

It was rainy when we moved his things but the weather improved to a bright sunny afternoon to our relief. There were so many chores to do yet. The week preceding this move, we spent time packing and attempting to clean his rooms at home. We counted over a thousand videos that were put in his old toy box. We gave away old clothes that had been in his room since he was in middle school.

Now moving into his little dormitory, we helped him connect computers, organize closets and drawers and shop for things he might need. During the momentous move, however, I believe I have turned into the dummy and official punch bag. Everything that came out of my mouth was met with indignation. I had no suggestion that did not meet with a “are you from this earth?” look; I said nothing that was intelligent. If I said, just for conversation, “The sun is out!” I was told, “Why would you think it would not come out?” If I said “The rain started again.” I was given the “what kind of stupid statement is that” look. When I was his age, my equally dismissive retort to any adult’s statement would be “Obvious ba?” (Subtext: you idiot!)

Despite what I was feeling, I had to be the parent and in control of my emotions. I understood, and my husband made sure to remind me, that our son was under a lot of stress. But that did not stop me from reminding my son that all three of us are under stress and he has to be nice, we would leave him alone sooner than much later.

When we were done with our task at the end of one hectic day, he looked at us and asked without fanfare, “So what are you still doing in Kansas? Are you not leaving yet?” We told him we were scheduled to attend parent sessions. He was incredulous. Does that mean that we would still be together? Our mere presence was objectionable to him. Unfortunately for him, the answer was yes because 1) he has not been to an orientation; 2) he has not registered for classes ; 3) we had to set up a local bank account for him; and lastly and most importantly, we had to write the first of the big fat checks that will pay the University to help him become a responsible adult.

I said something about his choosing his classes. He said something that made me furious and I became the child throwing a tantrum, “Listen, this stupid mother of yours graduated with a 3.89 GPA at the university. Until you can top that, do not talk to me like I am some kind of an idiot. I am so sick and tired of your attitude, snap out of it. NOW! “ I slid down the path I had been trying to avoid. I told him that the feeling was mutual, that I did not want to be in the same space that he was in, but that I had to be and that was it. And while we were on the subject, I reminded him that my name's on the check that was paying for his education so maybe he had better be nice to me.

On the way back to our hotel, I cried and my husband said that my son would miss me too. I told him I was not crying because I will miss him. I was crying because he seemed to hate me. Not true? Tell me that tomorrow.

We saw a movie and I completely forgave my son’s demeanor. I realized that maybe he was going through the same separation anxiety process I was going through. My heart was going out to him. I am sure he was tired, overwhelmed, and embarrassed that he has parents.

Then my Blackberry buzzed. "Sorry I was being difficult, I am stressed and I was acting out. Much love." So there.

The next day, we attended the orientation and learned so many insightful things. He is learning about the the value of community, opportunity, hard work, success. For our part, we were reminded that we need to allow him to make his own decisions, be a consultant, not the facilitator. We need to give him space. I met another family whose mom is Asian as well. She and I compared notes about how we are treated by our sons. We seem to be talking about the same “boy.” Her husband is American, she is from Jakarta, her son looked Chinese and they live in Oman. I then realized that as much as we are just like any normal family, outwardly, we are not typical. I am Filipino, my husband is White and my son looked Persian . Ratna, my newfound ally told me that they wondered about us and I told her that I wondered about them. She gave me the opportunity to laugh again. I wanted so much to get back at my son, for how he was treating me. I wanted to momentarily distance myself from him, and declare that he is adopted. But instead I told her, “Oh, he is adopted by my husband...” One beat, two, “He is my son.”

The morning of our departure, the three of us had breakfast . We paid his fees and prepared to go home. He hugged his father and when my turn came, he said, in a warning tone, “Mom.” I gave him a hug, wished him luck and as he turned to go, I said “I love you, Kris!” He turned and walked away to go to a library tour.

I sobbed as we drove away. I could not believe that I was leaving my son behind. I started beating the arm of my husband, telling him that I could not believe he would allow me to leave my one and only son behind. He asked me if I could at least mentally accept that he is in a good place. I agreed but that did not make it easy. When the plane took off, I felt such sadness and cried all the way up to an altitude of 35,000 feet. Then my husband showed me a text message stating, “Dad I will be fine. I like it here. I will be okay. I will do well. Love to you and Mom.” Fifteen minutes later, and feeling a little better, I was drinking a virgin Mary.

The first thing I did when we got home was to go into my son’s room on the pretext of taking a pair of shoes he left behind. There was a lingering, all too familiar stink in the room and I cried despite myself. Our cat smelled his shoes. Cat looked at me and sniffed the shoes, seemingly saying, “Yeah, lady, I would cry too at this smell.”

Very late afternoon on Friday, my son sent me an email stating that he really likes it at the University. His professors are fine and he was thinking of switching a subject. I was not sure that he wanted a response because earlier, when I sent him a text message asking if he was okay, he responded with “Stop it, Mom.” I texted him back with “Stop what?” “I will email you later over the weekend.” “E-mail your dad. Goodbye!”
I was crying like a big loser when my coworker found me. I closed the door and she told me, “We mothers are naggers, we are repetitious, and we mind what is not our business. This is what my daughter tells me. Do not contact him. Wait for him to contact you.” We left to go home.

As soon as my coworker got off the train, I took out my Blackberry and I emailed my son. I told him that the beauty of being in college is that there are many classes to choose from to satisfy the requirements and that if for any reason he does not like any of the ones he signed for, be it the professor or the subject matter, he can drop it and take another one and that I am sure that whatever he decides will be the best decision for him. I stared at the Blackberry – shall I hit the ‘send’ button or not? Will my response be met with another “Stop it, Mom.” I clicked the ‘send’ button and promised not to ever be the first one to send a message, ever, ever again.

We heard from him today, Sunday. He is fine. He did not switch out of Psychology. He saw a movie with his roommate and his dorm friends. He asked to speak with me. We talked for two minutes and ended with “I love you mom.” I had the temerity to say “You need to go. You might have some studying to do. I love you too. Bye!”

The cats are probably wondering where the boy with long wavy hair went. They nap in his room. At lunch, I made noises with the pots and pans and I automatically apologized until I realized there was no teen-ager still in bed at two in the afternoon. I am beginning to feel good about leaving him in Kansas. He has been our source of joy; the center of our universe. He asked us once, rather presumptuously but rather true, “Mom and Dad, I am the center of your lives. Are you going to be okay when I go to college?”

We are okay. We will look forward for his phone calls, text messages, his emails. We know, however, that this is his time to discover new things, meet new friends, and prepare to compete in the adult world. He needs space.

In the meantime, we cleaned and re-assigned space at home. His room no longer stinks. His play room is now a work-out room and the computer screen in his study room is dark. The cat’s litter is cleaned, the trash taken out, life goes on but dude, we miss him more than he will ever know! In the meantime, his Dad has put together things we are sending out to him. We are okay. We are chill, we are cool.