A college, or as my daughter prefers, a university is partially defined as a degree-awarding tertiary educational institution.
Although that sounds lovely, and is for the most part correct, what most parents think of when the word college or university slips from our child’s mouth, is a firsthand education on how to be an adult. I think my daughter would agree to some extent, as she is looking forward to my inability to helicopter. More so, I think she is looking forward to the parties.
Looking back on my college days, I fondly recall my friendships and my independence. I opened my first bank account, but still went home to do laundry. My memories of parties are fuzzy, and, in some cases, hard to forget.
As I walk the university campus with my daughter during our fourth, and hopefully last, campus tour, I compare this campus to the others we’ve seen over the last few months and make notes for later review. As I open my mouth to ask a question of our guide, my daughter tugs on my arm and whispers, “don’t, mom, I got this.” A litany of emotions race through me. Pride for my daughter taking control took the first-place ribbon, with irritation at the admonishment sliding in at a close second. In the end, I landed the helicopter and let my daughter take the lead, which meant that I also handed her the notebook and pen so she could take notes. I could see that the pen touched paper only a few times, and that was okay. It had to be, because this is how you learn to be an adult.
Now, the question is, who was the student?