When Your College Student Doesn't Call Home

I’m going to begin with a disclaimer: I have sons – three of them – and so any advice I have is a result of the male mindset. From what I hear, it seems as if daughters are better than sons about emailing, texting, calling, and being more communicative, but I’m aware that this is a huge generalization. There are daughters who don’t call home, just as I know there are sons who faithfully call their moms. In our household, we fall somewhere in-between -- sometimes they call, and sometimes they don't. But now that we have two done finished with college, and one about to start his sophomore year, here is what we've learned along the way.

1. When our sons don’t call home it doesn’t mean they don’t love us. Or need us. Believe me, the second they need their winter jacket or help with a resume, they will call. And they will be so nice about it.
2. We ask for one day a week – we let them choose – in which they are expected to call home. This puts the ball in their court and allows them to take the lead. A friend of mine once told me that she had to train her sons in this area, and I am so glad took her advice. For us, Sunday evening is the time we catch up with our sons. That doesn’t mean we don’t/can’t talk during the week, but at least on Sunday evening our sons take a break from their busy college lives and think of their family back home. Sometimes the call comes in the afternoon, sometimes in the evening, and sometimes late at night – but that’s okay.
3. They are expected to respond to our texts.  We have watched our sons arrive late for dinner, stop in the middle of a conversation, or rush out at the end of church in order to answer a text from a friend. We know they will do anything to answer a text, and as parents we deserve the same courtesy. But there is a caveat . . . and it is IMPORTANT so listen up: We do not text our sons all they time. They need their space, and the last thing we want to do is hover-text (and yes, I just made up that word).
4. When they call, we don’t grill them about everything they’ve been doing. It’s a conversation, which means information flows both ways. They share a little of their life and then we give them some news from home. For them to hear about Dad’s new car, their baby brother’s latest Lego creation, or what we did for Friday Family Night will remind them that we are still family and that they are still an important part of it … even though they are way over there, and we are over here.

Of course, things happen. Sometimes they will “forget” to text back, sometimes Sunday’s call comes Monday morning, and sometimes they call but aren’t talkative, but it’s all good. Besides, I know how to get the communication flowing ...

Two words: Care Package

And To All a Good Night . . .

Tonight I will sleep.

I won't be listening for odd noises, or getting up to make sure windows and doors are locked, or have a sleepless night like I do whenever Joe is out of town.

I won't toss and turn worrying about Jonathan in Atlanta.

Or stay awake thinking about Nicholas in Little Rock. 

And I won't wait for Timothy's text informing me he's driving home from work. 

No, I won't do any of those things because tonight ... we are all home.

Together.

So tonight I will sleep.

 

 

Speak to Me Sunday: What to Expect from Your High School Senior when Choosing a College

This week Timothy, received two college letters inviting him to sign up for a college campus visit. Yes, he's only in the tenth grade, but ... sophomore today, senior tomorrow. We know this time flies by quickly. Admittedly, he was excited. Timothy read both letters and asked a million questions. Is it a good college? Where is it? Do they have an engineering program? Will I live in a dorm? A few years ago he watched his two older brothers go through the process (and was even dragged to several campus visits) so he's excited about it finally being his turn (whether or not I'm ready is an entirely different matter). Yes, it's an exciting time, but it's also time for the nitty gritty of finances, logistics, and yes, even practicality. One decision at a time ...

It's been a summer of college campus tours, all of which have been fun, informative, and have shown our son a future bright with opportunities. It was our way to showcase the great big world out there, and to have our son see himself as a vibrant part of it.

I realize this may sound idealistic, perhaps even naïve, but knowing what is out there is a great place to start. It’s great to have choices (they are gifts!) but we also know choices need to be whittled down because, ultimately, decisions need to be made.  

This, then, is the nitty gritty part of life in which we ponder, weigh, compare, analyze, formulate, calculate, and question. So, while we want our son to reach for the stars, we also want to teach him the practical aspects on how to navigate in order to get there. And there are so many things to take into consideration.

First and foremost, finances. Our son has a good life. He lives in a nice house, he goes to a great school, he has traveled to Europe, and he has a loving, supportive family. But part of being a good steward of God’s gifts is not taking anything for granted, and my husband and I are not going to just hand him four years wrapped up with a nice, neat bow; rather, he is very involved in the financial aspects of his college education and knows that he's expected to contribute. 

Location is another consideration. How far away is too far away, and how close is too close? We laugh about this sometime, and on bad days Joe and I think, Alaska is good. We also have to consider that fact that Georgia offers the Hope Scholarship (tuition is mostly covered if a certain grade point average is maintained), and while this is a huge incentive for choosing to stay in-state, it’s just that, an incentive, and not a done deal.

Then there is gut instinct, that visceral reaction which should never be ignored.  There have been campus visits in which, right away, we just didn’t feel it. It wasn’t something specific, just a feeling. On the flip side, we knew we were on to something when we heard our son say, “I can see myself going here.”

Oh, there is more to decide and consider. We could go on and on about student loans, meal plans, early admission … and on it goes.

On our dining room table is a huge black box with hanging files containing scholarship information, application deadlines, essay prompts, and test scores. The nitty gritty in all its glory. We look at the box, and yes, each of those files is calling for a decision to be made, but here’s the thing: we don’t need to make all the decisions at once.

Know what, then see where.

Decide where, and then work on the how.

And through it all we pray, which helps the nitty gritty not seem so … nitty gritty.

college: two sons down, one to go

Timothy, following his older brother

graduation day at Clemson University

Speak to Me Sunday: W.O.W. Moments

When we decided to send Timothy to public school, everyone wondered if he would now be riding the bus. And I understood their question. For 18 consecutive years I have driven every morning and afternoon, to school and back home again, to basketball, tennis, and soccer practices, to St. Mary's and Aquinas, back and forth, and back again. All that driving!

But it was never a question for me. I didn't want to stop driving mainly because I didn't want to give up that one-on-one time with Timothy--those times I turn up the volume when Ed Sheerhan's song, Perfect, comes on the radio, and Timothy tries to turn it down; the times he gets into the car grumpy, and I tease a smile out of him; the times we discuss possible themes for a literature test or I quiz him on Spanish; or the times I pick him up in the afternoon with the news I went grocery shopping and he hoots in excitement at the thought of our pantry filled with Little Debbie cakes and chocolate chip cookies ... all there waiting for him.

Most importantly, though, I knew I didn't want to give up our W.O.W. moments. 

W.O.W. stands for "words of wisdom" and it's a term we use to describe those golden nuggets of insight or advice, of stories, lessons, or parables that challenge us think, reflect, and change. W.O.W. moments happen randomly, and don't last very long, which is why they occur so often on that drive to school in the morning or back home in the afternoon.

For example, on Friday during our drive to school we said our prayers, after which Timothy read a short reflection from the book, Day by Day with St. Francis. The reflection described how St. Francis, despite being known throughout the region, wanted nothing more than to be God's humble servant; he didn't want the recognition, he didn't want praise. "In exalted places there is the danger of falling," St. Francis explained to his brethren. 

And then we had a W.O.W. moment about pride, popularity, and hero worship. 

Often those W.O.W. moments come during our morning commute when we are saying our prayers, but just as often they come in the afternoon, on the heels of something that happened in school. 

One day Timothy got into the car complaining about a test he had on To Kill a Mockingbird. "It was so hard!" he lamented. "I read and I studied and I think it's stupid a teacher can ask something that we didn't even talk about in class."

His words inspired a W.OW. moment. I explained how the words on a page aren't enough, that they are simply black letters marching across a white background; how every paragraph, sentence, and word doesn't stand alone, but is part of a whole; how what is NOT being said is just as important as what is being said, so you have to infer, imagine, and delve below the surface. 

I gave an example: "Once upon a time there was a man who always dressed in overalls. Then one day, without explanation, he emerges wearing a grey tie. The end. That's the story. On one level it's about a man who one day decided to wear a tie. But WHY was he wearing the tie? WHAT changed? WHAT happened? WHERE was he going? WHO was he going to see? There is a story beyond the words." 

Then, because my son thinks in numbers and sees the world as black and white and who, at that very moment,  didn't have the warm fuzzies for either his teacher or Harper Lee, I pointed out how it's the thinkers, teachers, writers, artists, and poets who bring imagination, depth, color, and magic to our world. 

"Just look at me," I teased. "Aren't you glad I'm not an engineer? Who would help you with all this stuff?" 

He laughed.

Having two grown sons who are off in the world, I am all too aware how change is around the corner. And so I continue to drive. Because I cherish these times. Because I know that little boys with their frogs and snails and puppy dog tails grow up. 

Because I love those W.O.W. moments. 

Speak to Me Sunday: The One Parenting Rule that Works

On Speak to Me Sunday a few weeks ago I shared a post entitled, I know nothing about parenting, but I will tell you the nothing I know. And it's true, I know nothing. BUT I did share ONE ALL IMPORTANT RULE that is vital in order to maintain a healthy parent-teen relationship. Here's an honest, true life example from a few years ago ...

Here’s what I know about raising teenagers: Nothing.

I can’t give you any advice, and I don’t have any words of wisdom; maybe if you check back with me when they’re all grown I can look back and come up with an answer or two, but until then Joe and I (like most of you) are making this whole parenting thing up as we go along.

A few years ago I wrote a post about the caveman tendency indicative of teens, and in desperation I visited several Catholic parenting Web sites where I found this, the only thing that has helped me stumble my way through these teen years: the responsibility for developing a healthy parent-teen relationship rests primarily with the parent; that (like it or not) it is really up to us to keep the peace and maintain open lines of communication.

Fast forward a couple of years to this past weekend, and those words once again guided us.

On Friday Joe and I decided to take the family on a last minute trip to the beach. We planned to leave Sunday morning, spend the night in Hilton Head, and return home late Monday afternoon. On Saturday, as we were driving to the Kroc Center for a family workout, we announced the surprise to the boys. Everyone was excited except our oldest.

He didn’t want to go.

What?!? The beach, eating out, surf, sand … and he doesn’t want to go?

He also wasn’t giving us a good reason except to say that he didn’t see the point of driving all that way just for 24 hours.

Emotions were swirling: Nicholas was reticent, his brothers were in a state of disbelief, and Joe and I were more than a little angry. I mean, what was his problem? Well. If we decided we were going as a family then he was, too, and that was just that. He huffed, we puffed, and by the time we arrived to the Kroc Center no one was speaking.

It’s a good thing we were at a gym as it provided plenty of ways to work off frustrations.

As I was running on the treadmill, I thought about that parental advice from a couple of years ago: a healthy parent-teen relationship rests with the parents (okay, that means us) … it’s up to the parents to keep the peace (sigh, us again) … parents need to maintain open lines of communication (right. got it. us again).

After my workout I went to find Nicholas. He, too, was finished and was sitting by the pool watching his baby brother pretend to be Michael Phelps.

I sat down next to him.

“Nicholas,” I began. “I’m trying to understand.”

And just like that, he began to talk. He explained that he had planned to use this three day weekend to get some things done; that he wanted to finish his proposal for his senior project, study for a calculus test, work on an English essay, and completely finish one of his college applications. He was worried that he wouldn’t be able to get everything done before we left on Sunday, and he was worried that he had disappointed us by not wanting to go in the first place.

I listened to my son, and I understood. Totally. I patted him on the shoulder and went to find Joe.

In the end, this is what we decided: Nicholas could stay home by himself. This was a first for all of us, but it was time and he was more than ready to experience a little freedom.

So, while we were in Hilton Head Nicholas worked on his deadlines and his projects. While we were gone he had a friend over for two hours to study, he drove to Nonna and Nonno’s house for dinner, he played cards with them, and then he came back home and watched Ocean’s 11. While we were gone he enjoyed the freedom of eating in front of the television, of not making his bed, and of listening to the stereo while he worked. While we were gone he was responsible, mature, and finished everything on his to-do list.

And it was exactly what he needed.

Reaching out.

Keeping peace.

Maintaining an open line of communication.

Honest to God, parenting keeps us humble. While we may not know what we are doing most of the time … sometimes things manage to work out just right.

And as parents, those are the moments to hold on to.

Speak to Me Sunday, vol. 16 (I know nothing about parenting, but I will tell you the nothing I know)

With our two older sons out of the house, my husband and I are grateful we still have the bambino, the caboose, my baby. Except, the bambino-caboose-baby is 14 years old and taller than I am. He’s also venturing into that vast wasteland of mood swings and attitude better known as the teen years. But this time, after having gone through this twice (and survived!), we know what to expect. We are better prepared. We will know how to handle everything from caveman speech to missed curfews. Right? RIGHT?  Help me out here, because when I stumbled upon this old post I'm not so sure …

After a week of enduring what I referred to as Caveman Syndrome from the older boys – grunts, monosyllabic words, slouchy posture – I embraced my limitations and browsed several Catholic Parenting Web sites for advice.

One site emphasized how the responsibility for developing a healthy parent-child relationship rests primarily with the parent; that (like it or not) it's really up to us to keep the peace and maintain open lines of communication.

Okay, I get that. We’re the adults, we’re mature, we need to take the higher road. In other words, we are bigger than they are. So then, I would keep my communication lines WIDE OPEN.

Then there were the Old Testament references to the "rod of discipline” (Prov. 13:24; 23: 13-14) which, in the New Testament, becomes the staff used by shepherds, not as punishment, but as a way to corral and guide wayward sheep.

What a beautiful image. That’s exactly what my husband and I are trying to do as parents – guide our son in the ways of the world. Be a shepherd to sheep.

Unfortunately, as I was letting this beautiful image run through my mind, I happened to glance at my watch. The time in which my son, who had gone out with friends, was supposed to call home to check in had come and gone.  No phone call whatsoever.

It’s hard to keep open lines of communication when THEY FORGET TO CALL HOME.

Truthfully, in that very moment, I just wanted to take that rod, or shepherd’s staff, or whatever, and whack my son over the head with it.

How's that for a title? Not Sheep in the Meadows or Frolicking Sheep.

No, just ... Sheep. 

The Year of Moving Forward in Reverse

It was early in the morning, and my goal was to find the bow of the ship and have a Leonardo DiCaprio/Kate Winslet moment. I wanted to stand at the railing while the sun was rising, feel the ocean breezes, and take in the endless sea.

I wanted to feel like I was flying.

Except, it didn’t happen that way.

If you’ve ever been on a cruise ship, then you know how easy it is to get turned around, especially if you’re walking down an interior corridor without a visual reference from a window. That morning I left our cabin, walked up several flights of stairs, turned a corner here and went around there. I walked a long time until I climbed some iron stairs to a heavy metal door, opened it, and stepped outside to the bow of the ship.

Except it wasn’t the bow. It was the stern, so instead of watching the ship cut into the waves, I was watching the wake it created as it sailed to Cozumel.

And just like that I felt a little defeated. The very next day we would be celebrating New Year’s Eve, and the fact I was standing at the back of a ship instead of the front struck me as more than a little ironic considering the past year. It hadn’t been a good one for me.

Last January, with high hopes and a milestone birthday to look forward to, I embraced 2017 with enthusiasm, hope, and excitement. I felt great mentally, physically, and spiritually. I had plans, goals, dreams … but none of them materialized. Not one.

In March, after three months of gathering birth certificates, filling out applications, and setting a date with the Italian Consulate in Miami, I had to abandon my dream of legally claiming my Italian heritage and applying for dual citizenship.  In the end, due to the political situation and my husband’s security clearance, I had to let it go.

Then, one month later I was diagnosed with PVCs (premature ventricular contractions). While considered benign, I was having so many that they put me on medication, and just like that I went from taking a daily aspirin to now taking a pill twice a day and having to give up any and all caffeine. I was now someone who had a cardiologist. Suddenly, turning fifty didn’t feel empowering, but scary – a sign of bad things to come.

There were two trips to Little Rock, Arkansas to help our son get settled in his life there, trips which were successful in that we got everything done, but also fraught with tension, frazzled nerves, hurt feelings, and tears. Some of these issues still linger and I don't know how to make them go away.

There were discussions on where to send Timothy for high school, discussions in which I felt one way and my husband and son felt another and so it continued for several months until, in the end, I realized I was the one creating strife by refusing to not see another way. So I relented, and while I was grateful for the peace of coming together, I also felt a little defeated and more than a little tired.

It was a year of self doubt, and I questioned whether I was a good enough mother or if I had done enough to give our sons what they needed in this world. Then, returned articles, rejected essays, and a publishing dream in constant limbo made me wonder whether I should close down this blog or if I needed to stop writing altogether.

There were spiritual hardships, too. At church, in the Adoration Chapel, or at my kitchen table I prayed asking for clarity and direction, only to be given answers which I thought were promising but, in reality, resulted in more confusion and doubt. Truly, if I had to describe my spiritual journey during 2017 it would be like this: muddled, foggy, obscure, alone.

To be sure, there were moments of grace -- an unexpected trip to Colorado, a spring break in Washington DC, nighttime walks with Timothy, Friday lunches with Joe, day trips with friends, shopping with Jonathan, an afternoon in an art gallery with my guys -- and I held on to those, recognizing them as gifts they were meant to be.

So that morning on the ship, as I stood at the stern instead of the bow, as I looked backward instead of forward, I thought about the past year and Let It Go. I gathered broken bits and pieces of my heart and my soul, wrapped them with strings of hopes and dreams, and tossed the entire package into the sea. I then turned around and went down the iron steps. I turned a corner here and went around there; I went up several flights of stairs. I walked a long time until I came to a heavy metal door which I pushed opened … and this time stepped out onto the bow of the ship.

I stood at the railing. I watched the sun rise, felt the ocean breezes, and took in the endless sea.

I felt like I was flying.

Transitions

"Now, don't cry when we start carrying his things out of here," said the man from Atlas Van Lines. "The first one out of the house is hard."


Well, I'm not crying . . . yet.


But it is a strange feeling. As I'm typing this, perfect strangers are packing, sorting, and wrapping our son's things into boxes and loading them into a large Atlas moving truck parked in front of our house. After twenty-two years it's all going: the furniture, clothes, art supplies, television, video games, board games, cleaning supplies, posters, and books.


There are more books than anything -- from Dostoyevsky to Naruto -- and, more than anything, I think it's the books that have caused a lump in my throat. Nicholas is the only one in the family who shares my love of reading, and through the years we've exchanged novels and have had wonderful conversations about some of the books we've read.


It's all happening so fast. Today is Nicholas' last day in Denver, tomorrow he flies home, and on Sunday he and Jonathan will drive out to Little Rock, Arkansas. Joe, Timothy, and I will follow a few days later to help Nicholas move in, after which the four of us will say goodbye and go on a little road trip.


I know some may see the finality of a child moving out as an ending, but I like to see it as a transition. There will be a shift in our family dynamics, and certainly a period of adjustment, but it will also be a springboard to new beginnings, traditions, and adventures.


Just the same, though, I think I'll keep a box of tissues nearby.

The Dining Table with the Turquoise Chairs

The year Joe and I lived in Santa Fe, NM was a very special time in our lives. We were away from family, we didn't have children, and so our weekends were filled with hikes, cross country skiing, road trips, and enjoying the Hispanic and the Native American cultures which are so prevalent in that part of the world.


During our time there we lived in a beautiful adobe house which was just a five-minute walk from the main plaza. Everything about that house was charming ... the small courtyard, the brick floor in the kitchen, the three kiva fireplaces, the Spanish tile on the walls and countertops, the skylights, and the small dining table with wooden chairs painted a bright turquoise color.


There are a lot of memories associated with that little home. The midnight walks during a snowfall and a full moon, watching the rain while sitting under the skylights, lighting the kiva fireplace for the first time and setting off all the fire alarms because of the smoke, listening to Italian tapes in the evening so Joe could learn the language, and once ordering a pizza with green chili, only I must have said jalapeno because that's what they delivered, and yowza! that pizza was hot.


And it was near the end of our stay, while sitting on the blue turquoise chairs at our little dining table, that I told Joe that he was going to be a father for the first time.


New Mexico is known as the Land of Enchantment ... and so it was for us.


*this was a re-post from June 15, 2014.






Our dining room table in Santa Fe



Our adobe home in Santa Fe, NM

48 Hours

This past weekend my husband and I flew to Little Rock, AR with our eldest son who will be moving there in a month to begin work. We had 48 hours to explore the city, find an apartment, and get a feel for the area. We had 48 hours to stake our claim in a city in which we had never visited and where we didn't know a single person. We had 48 hours to do as much as we could to lay the foundation for a new beginning for our son.


And within the span of that 48 hours we also planned to attend Mass Saturday night. There were many Catholic churches in Little Rock, so once Nicholas signed the lease for his apartment we Googled nearby churches and arbitrarily picked one to attend.


Here's what I envisioned (hoped!) would happen: We'd walk into a church with lots of young people -- people my son's age! -- and he would feel welcomed and excited about joining a new parish. Maybe even someone would even come up and speak to him and tell him about a Bible study or a young adult group.


Instead, here's what happened: We walked into the church, and of the 40 people in attendance Joe and I were the youngest which, as you can imagine, was not a good sign for Nicholas.


It was definitely not how I would have planned things. Not. At. All.


But as I knelt in the quiet of the church before Mass started, I wrapped myself in the comforting traditions of our faith and unburdened my soul to God.


I gave Him everything -- my hope, fears, doubts, and tears. I told Him how proud I was to have a son primed and ready to go forth into this world, but at the same time confessed how letting go is so contrary to a mother's heart. I gave Him my confidence in my son's intelligence and maturity, but also my fears of him being in a city of strangers.  I asked for patience with the arrogance of youth (of which we have all been guilty) who think they can go it alone and often forget that seeking advice, asking for help, or kneeling before God is not a sign of weakness, but of strength.


And then came the homily. The priest, who was originally from Vietnam, told the story of his last few months in seminary when he was consumed with worry on how he was going to buy a chalice for his ordination. He knew his family back in Vietnam could not afford it, and as a seminarian on scholarship with no funds of his own he didn't know what to do. He told no one of his dilemma. Then one day a priest teaching in the seminary informed him that an elderly priest from another parish had died and that his family wanted his chalice to go to a seminarian. Would he like to have the chalice?


Sitting in that nearly empty church in a strange city, listening to this story of a man who followed his vocation to live among strangers, I realized that there are times in our life when God has given us that chalice -- such as the moment He provides exactly what we need at the exact moment when we need it, or when He gives us something we didn't even realize we needed, or when we don't know how to ask for something and He gives it to us anyway.


I also realized that maybe, just maybe, God brought us to that church not for Nicholas (the way I wanted it to happen), but for me.

Somewhere in Italy

(photo taken by my cousin)

Getting Down to the Nitty Gritty

Yesterday I wrote about our summer of college campus tours, all of which have been fun, informative, and have shown our son a future bright with opportunities. It was our way to showcase the great big world out there, and to have our son see himself as a vibrant part of it.

I realize this may sound idealistic, perhaps even naive, but knowing what is out there is a great place to start. It’s great to have choices (they are gifts!) but we also know choices eventually whittle down until, ultimately, decisions need to be made.  

This, then, is the nitty gritty part of life in which we ponder, weigh, compare, analyze, formulate, calculate, and question. So, while we want our son to reach for the stars, we also want to teach him the practical aspects on how to navigate in order to get there. And there are so many things to take into consideration.

First and foremost, finances. Our son has a good life. He lives in a nice house, he goes to a private school, he has traveled to Europe, and he has a loving, supportive family. But part of being a good steward of God’s gifts is not taking anything for granted, and my husband and I are not going to just hand him four years wrapped up with a nice, neat bow; rather, he is very involved in the financial aspects of his college education. He knows we will help (a lot), but he also knows that there is the entire family to consider and that he has another brother who is just behind him. He knows that he has to do his part.

Location is another consideration. How far away is too far away, and how close is too close? We laugh about this sometime, and on bad days Joe and I think, Alaska is good. We also have to consider that fact that Georgia offers the Hope Scholarship (tuition is mostly covered if a certain grade point average is maintained), and while this is a huge incentive for choosing to stay in-state, it’s just that, an incentive, and not a done deal.

Then there is gut instinct, that visceral reaction which should never be ignored.  There have been campus visits in which, right away, we just didn’t feel it. It wasn’t something specific, just a feeling. On the flip side, we knew we were on to something when we heard our son say, “I can see myself going here.”

Oh, there is more to decide and consider. We could go on and on about student loans, meal plans, early admission, study abroad possiblities … ay, ay, ay.

On our dining room table is a huge black box with hanging files containing scholarship information, application deadlines, essay prompts, and test scores. The nitty gritty in all its glory. We look at the box, and yes, each of those files is calling for a decision to be made, but here’s the thing: we don’t need to make all the decisions at once.

Know what, then see where.

Decide where, and then work on the how.

And through it all we pray, which helps the nitty gritty not seem so … nitty gritty.

Novajosky News: Nicholas' Turn

As an English major/Spanish minor at the University of Georgia, I can say that for every time I stayed up late to finish a paper or research Faulkner’s stream of consciousness writing technique, there were just as many days when I sat under an oak tree discussing Shakespeare or attended a play in order to write a review for the paper; in other words, I remember those days as being pleasantly ensconced among writers and poets and totally devoid of undue stress.

Fast forward a few years and I find myself comparing my college experience with Nicholas’ as he pursues an engineering degree from Clemson University. Here’s what I’ve discovered: engineering is not for wimps and, most definitely, doesn’t include Shakespeare. For Nicholas, the past four years meant many late nights at the library, or marathon study sessions with friends, or working on group design projects. The past four years meant engineering internships every summer and during two Christmas breaks, and then afterwards sitting down with Joe and discussing what he could financially contribute to his tuition.

He’s a hard worker, is our son.

This is not to say that the past few years haven’t been fun. He will graduate this June with many wonderful memories:  the weekend trips to the beach or to Athens, GA to visit friends, the traditional bar crawl when he turned 21, the trivia contests at the pub and, of course, those Clemson football games and watching (on his birthday no less!) the Clemson Tigers win the National Championship. So he definitely had fun, but never at the expense of his studies.

And now here we are, his senior year. This past fall, in the midst of working on a senior design project and maintaining a 4.0 GPA, he diligently submitted resumes and interviewed at job fairs on campus. Then, between homework assignments, oral presentations and a hectic exam schedule, he had a few follow-up interviews which not only involved driving to Augusta (once) and Charlotte (twice), but also flying out to Denver, CO where he had his first “white board” interview which involved using the board to solve problems given to him during the interview. Right there, on the spot.

I broke out in a sweat just hearing about it.

He never wore a suit as often as he did this past semester, and he never called home as much as he did during those days before and after each interview. There were many things to consider, plan, and discuss: he could see himself working in Charlotte, he liked the people he would be working with in Augusta, and he really, really liked the company in Colorado. Also, he wondered in one phone call, would it be okay to fold his suit in a small carry-on?

By December he received two job offers, and earlier this month he signed a contract with the company out in Denver, Colorado. We couldn’t be more excited for him. This May he will find out where he will be located (we're hoping Nashville, TN, or it could be Washington D.C. or even Salt Lake City, Utah) and in June he will begin work after a two week training session at their headquarters in Denver.  And so far the company has been very good to him. A week after signing with them Nicholas received a beautiful, high end laptop backpack in the mail with a personal note welcoming him to the company and, just this past week, company recruiters visiting campus took him and a few students out to dinner.

As parents, nothing is more gratifying then seeing our son make his way in the world, and we are excited these doors of opportunity are being opened to him.  I have always referred to Nicholas as my “Renaissance Man” because his interests and talents are so varied: he’s very good at engineering and math, but he is also a voracious reader; he plays the guitar, follows politics and world affairs, goes to church every Sunday, and is teaching himself how to paint; he is presently taking a basic law class because he thought it would be interesting; and he’s very witty and adored by his baby brother.

It’s the bittersweet truth that children grow up in a heartbeat, and I could never have imagined, all those years ago when I sat under the oak tree discussing Shakespeare, that I would one day have a son who is poised to go off into the world as a young man. It’s exciting, gratifying, heartwarming.

It’s incredibly humbling.