When I was eighteen, and had just graduated from High School, as most people do at that time in their life, I began thinking seriously about what came next. It's not that I had never considered such things before that time, but milestones like graduation seem to imprint a sense of urgency on thoughts like these which previously, at least for me at that young age, had seemed to exist only somewhere in the far distant future.
I was young enough that I had never lived away from home, and this was the next thing I wanted to try. Not because my life at home was unhappy, it wasn't. I loved being surrounded by people who cared for and supported me. My dad was kind of my hero by then, and I took his advice seriously. So, I shared with him my desire to go away to school. I explained I didn't want to go too far away, but far enough that I would really be on my own. I was a little surprised when he told me that he didn't want me to do that. I've often wondered why he felt that way since in my mind, it was the most logical next step to take. After all, what parent wouldn't want their children to stretch their wings a little and begin to take responsibility for their own life? Isn't it every parent's dream to get their children out of the house when they become adults?
He even became very insistent and used well thought out logical arguments against my leaving. He had run all of the numbers (he was an accountant), and could prove definitively that going to school away from home didn't make sense financially, but I doubt that was the real reason behind his arguments and I like to flatter myself into thinking that he was simply wrestling with the sense of loss he felt as he contemplated my imminent departure.
It wasn't that my dad was against my experimenting with making my own way through life; he was all fot it. As an example of this, I remember one of my brothers that was a little rebellious by nature who, after having a run in with my dad over the house rules, again, (not an uncommon event for them at that time), blurted out that he couldn't take it anymore and was leaving. My father simply said something like, Well if you're really sure son, let me help you pack. And he did.
The look of bewilderment on my brother's face was something I'll never forget. It was obvious that his threat to leave was not intended to be taken seriously, but after my father took him at his word, the die was cast, and we all filed past his bedroom to witness an event none of us could believe was actually happening.
We all knew Steve was too young and immature to leave home; he was only 16. And some of us even appealed to our mother to intervene and stop this madness...and although the genuine look of concern on her face betrayed her true feelings, to her credit...she didn't. But this was obviously a very hard thing for her to do. My brother was a very proud person and neither my father nor he would budge from what they had said.
After my father finished helping him pack his stuff he simply asked Son, where would you like me to take you? Steve replied that he had friends in Arizona and that he would like to go there. The next day, my dad loaded him and his stuff into the car and off they went to Arizona. After helping him get a job at McDonald's my parents returned home, without Steve. We were all stunned and for awhile, we paid special attention to the rules, although Steve was really the only one who had serious difficulties with any of the rules my parents asked us to keep.
Through phone conversations, my parents were able to keep in close contact with Steve, but we all worried about him...especially my mother. We learned that after about a month, he had lost his job at McDonald's, and a couple of weeks later, his friends abandoned him leaving him alone in Arizona.
Another, inevitable phone conversation occurred, but this time Steve initiated the call. It was the first time he had done so. When he explained his predicament, and this must have been hard, he asked my father if he could come home.
My father asked him if the house rules would continue to be a problem for him and Steve simply said no. My father told him that he would love to have him back and that he had missed him a great deal and asked him when we could expect him. Steve told him that he was broke and didn't have a job so my father urged him to come home as soon as he could, and he hung up the phone.
It took Steve a couple of months after he found his next job to settle his affairs in Arizona. When he finally had enough money to purchase a bus ticket he came home. We were all relieved to see him again and were glad he was back home again where he belonged. He never argued with my father again over the rules and kept them faithfully from that point until he really did leave home and start his own life.
I tell you this story simply so you can get a sense of the genuine confusion and surprise I felt when my father resisted my decision to leave home. It really didn't make sense to me then, and in some ways, still doesn't.
I am now, however, struggling with these same feelings as I have a daughter who just turned eighteen who has let me know that she too is preparing to leave my home. I love her so much that her leaving causes emotions of loss to well up inside me and I am beginning to understand how my own father may have felt when I told him I was going to leave.
I worry about my daughter and who she will run into and how she will be treated when she lives far enough away from me that I can't protect her directly, and keep her safe. I know she needs to leave to continue to develop her amazing potential as a kind, loving, and capable adult, but it hurts to think she is leaving...and it scares me a little bit. I just want her to be safe, and happy.
Only now am I beginning to realise that although my father seemed cool and in control at the time my brorher left home for Arizona, it must have been tearing him up inside and was likely one of the hardest decisions he made as a parent.
Well, even after all of my father's best attempts to persuade me to stay, I had made up my mind and resolved to go away to school. Actually, inside, I was a bit timid about the whole thing. I was afraid that I might fail being on my own without the safety net and wisdom that parents and other family members provide.
Even so, because I wanted to test myself to see if I really could manage my life on my own, I devised a way to make it even harder. Because I was a very shy person by nature, I felt I needed to go somewhere that none of my friends were going if I was ever going to overcome my fear of people. I really wanted to make my own way without support from anyone else. So, I intentionally chose a school where none of my friends had applied and after being accepted, I chose my classes.
The days flew by, and before I knew it, I was in the family car and we were driving off to begin my new adventure. After we arrived, my dad was still noticeably bothered at my decision, but after helping me up to my new room in the dorms, he put his arm around me and told me he was proud of me and that he would miss me. He made me promise to call home weekly and to visit during holidays. It was nice to know that I could go back home if and when I needed to.
Then abruptly, and in my mind almost suddenly, my family left me in my room and made their way down to the car to leave. The feelings I felt as I saw them get into the car and begin driving away almost made me call out after them to stop...please, don't leave me behind! I felt genuinely foolish when I remembered that this was all my idea and as I slowly came back down to my senses, I drew a deep breath, and amidst the most powerful sense of loneliness I had ever experienced, I began thinking about what I should be doing. And honestly, at first, I couldn't think of a single thing to do with my time other than wander around campus and town to get my bearings. It was nice to get out because it gave me something to do which took my mind from my lonliness and gave it focus and purpose, at least for awhile.
I got to school a week before classes began so I could purchase books, finalise admissions, and get my room set up the way I liked. It had advantages because having arrived several days before my roommate, I got to pick the best bed and the closet I liked, etc. But because my roommate didn't arrive until the following week, it made for a lonely first week for me.
I remember one day returning back from one of my ventures into town, and as I wrapped my hand around the door knob something cold and thick and sticky oozed out between my fingers and I immediately heard several people laugh four or five doors down the hallway. The door closed as I turned to see who was laughing. But because their conversation continued, and their laughter although muffled and suppressed was not controlled completely, it wasn't hard to find the right door. I was mad and the anger I felt at that time was communicated to those behind the door by the way I savagely pounded on it.
Can you picture me at that door? What and who do you see? I was very tall, but that was the only impressive dimension I possessed. I was six foot five inches tall but at that time I only weighed 140 pounds. By the end of that school year, I'd weigh over 190 pounds and would be built of solid muscle, but let's just say I hadn't come into my own yet.
After I knocked, a quiet hush fell over the room, and as the door was opened four of the biggest guys I'd ever seen were standing in front of me. They were literally twice my size, each of them weighing somewhere between 250 and 300 pounds a piece. They were all football players and, as it turned out, all of the football players for the school I attended occupied the same floor in the dorm where I lived...an attempt by the school to unify the team I, suppose. Anyway, after accommodating the entire football team on that floor, there were still a couple of rooms left, and I was one of those lucky enough to be placed in one of the remaining rooms.
I have to admit that at 140 pounds, I expected whoever was behind that door to be bigger than me, I was used to that, but I didn't believe for a second that I would be so entirely outclassed as I was that day standing before those guys.
But I was angry, and now that I had knocked on the door and it had opened, I was committed to my course of action so I blurted out Who did this? Three of the four with their mouths agape in astonishment, unable to believe what they were seeing pointed to the only one remaining, and as they did, his gaze found the floor and rested on it as I continued my angry tirade. What's the matter with you, are you still a child? That was all I said and I wiped my hand off on his door and walked away.
I know, I know, smearing toothpaste on someone else's door is a little childish and immature, but so was putting it on my door knob in the first place, so I felt justified in my actions. And I've got to admit that it felt kind of good like a well placed exclamation mark at the end of a powerful statement. As I left them, I could feel the weight of their stares resting on me as I made my way back to my room. Clearly, they were unaccustomed to people like me confronting them about their behavior.
I was pretty sure that I had just made myself a target for their abuse, but as it turned out, exactly the opposite was true...they never bothered me again. I wish I could say that our encounter had somehow changed them and that they began to treat everyone with the dignity and respect we all deserve, but that wouldn't be fair or true.
It wouldn't be fair because it might lead some of you to think that right makes might and that things alway turn out OK whenever your conscience is clear. That simply isn't always true. Those guys could have really hurt me if they would have wanted to. But I also don't think that things happen randomly or coincidentally nearly as often as our naive ruminations might lead us to believe either. I really do believe that there are higher powers at work which guide and direct our lives to whatever extent our faith and belief in God will allow.
Looking back on that day, I see the hand of God at play in orchestrating a set of circumstances which would allow me to take courage and avoid the kind of hazing which could have plagued my first year away from home. In fact, I was the target of such hazing as far back as I could remember at that time and I had resolved to not let that happen again when I went away to college and this is why anger controlled me when I pounded on that door. I couldn't believe it was starting again, and somehow, I had to stop it.
I would pass these guys in the hallways of the dorm and sometimes I would catch them as they set up their next victim. I would say What are you doing guys? And with one finger over their lips, they would turn to me and signal for my silence as I would walk by. I tried to warn as many of their targets as I could, but their pranks were so prolific that many of them found their marks.
They tormented my roommate so much that in desperation he asked me why they left me alone, so I told him my story. I don't think he believed me and I was never able to convince him to confront them directly. I tried to intervene on his behalf a few times by asking them to let up on him a little, and when I did this things would get better for a couple of weeks, but these respites were generally pretty short lived. I guess respect is a commodity which must be gained for yourself and likely can't be transferred in the manner I attempted.
All in all, not a bad first week at school.
Doug, you are an awesome Father!!!
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