The Dump and Run

Humor is always a good antidote to stress and anxiety.

As we got closer to college move-in day we teased Nolan that we’d use the dump and run technique—slow that car to a reasonable speed and let him hop out and we could toss out the bags.  It is a two hour drive home after all.  The best part of good humor is the little streak of reality in it. 

On orientation day, back in August, we drove up to the bright-faced student greeters for directions. 

“You can let everyone out right here and then you can park over there,” she said in a question.

“Uh, can we just dump him out here?” I said.

“Um, sure I guess so”, she crinkled her nose.

We looked at Nolan, “Ok, see you Sunday, kiddo”.  He was out of the car and walking toward the registration desk for perhaps the scariest two days since going to Camp Woskowitz in sixth-grade.   But we were off to hike in the woods and get used to being a family of three.  The Dump and Run, perfected.

One might think me rather heartless.  If I said we pulled over a few yards out of sight and sent four rapid-fire texts:  “we miss you”, “have a great time”, “did you get your jammies?”, “call us if you can’t sleep”, I’d probably confirm your suspicion.  But we taught him to be independent, to dive in the deep end and embrace the new and unknown.

My college move –in day was like no other.  I went to Fresno State; an agricultural education major.  I was the first in my family—on either side—to go to college.  I had to pay my way.  I didn’t move into the dorms.  Nope.  I had a sweet deal—a job and a room all in one:  I worked at the school farm.  To be precise, I worked and lived at the sheep unit.  The barns were built to have a little student apartment on one corner.  Free rent and a little pay for 24/7 labor.  

My mom and dad waved from their front porch as I drove my ’70 El Camino out the front gate and headed to Fresno in August 1981.  I had a few pair of jeans, some tee shirts, a denim coat and two pair of cowboy boots in the front seat.  My sheep-shearing gear filled in the back so I could make a little money on the side.   Man, were my parents proud of me; but they didn’t have a clue about how to act or what to do.  They visited one time.  I am not ashamed to admit (too late now) that I cried a few tears of loneliness and uncertainty on that first 3-hour drive to Fresno.  That was the Dump and Run 1.0.  It helped me to be independent, to dive in the deep end.

When we arrived last Sunday for the start of the school year, the student greeter with the orange “Ask Me!” tee shirt directed Nolan to the registration desk for his keys and us to a location designated for unloading.  We helped him unpack and re-bunk the beds for more room.  We unrolled a length of carpet to warm and quite the room.  We hauled in his 37” flat screen TV—yes, his own money.  Soon, there was nothing left to do, but say our first good-bye, there was no dump and run this time.  More like a lug & hug.

Last night, Nolan texted us to get on Skype, he needed to tell us about his day.  He looked good; better in fact than he had a few days before.  He had done a Top Gear-style test to see how long it would take him to get to the Amtrak/bus station and back using only his new transit pass.  He had invited some new friends over to watch TV and they brought apple pie.  He signed up for the Human Powered Submarine club.   He played with some goofy feature of his new webcam that made his eyes bulge or little “?” float over his head on our screen.  Independence.  Deep end.  New and unknown.  With humor.

No matter how well meaning, no matter how successful they are at raising us; we hope to do just a little bit better than our parents.  We hope to keep the good stuff and jettison things that aren’t.  I hope we got it right.