Chicken Soup for the College Soul Read online

  I won't miss his counsel about the mistakes I make raising his younger brother. In fact, he still dwells on the mistake I made in having his younger brother, and I'm tired of hearing it.

  I won't miss his stubbornness, either. Once, when he was four years old, we made a dealhe would stop sucking his thumb and I would stop smoking. He quit sucking his thumb on the spot and never put it in his mouth again. I still smoke.

  What kind of person is that to have around the house? Who would miss such a stubborn, strong-willed boy? He's like this about everything.

  And noisy! I'm sure not going to miss how noisy he is. He's always laughing too loud. He's so ready to see the humor in something, he even laughs when I tell a story that makes him look the fool.

  Like the Mr. Blib story. I call him Mr. Blib because he once told me he was blib.

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  "You know Mom, I'm pretty blib," he told me.

  "Blib?" I said. "What's blib?"

  "You knowgood with words," he said glibly.

  Now who could miss such a blib boy? A boy who laughs at himself when I tell this story?

  I'm sure not going to miss talking to him at the dinner table or having a late-night snack with him when he comes home from a date. And skiing with himwhy would I miss that? He goes too fast, anyhow.

  And I sure won't miss him relying on me for advice. What's the big deal? Who cares if he starts making all his own decisions and doesn't need me anymore?

  Look, I'm ready for this, no problem.

  It's just him. He's the one I'm worried about.

  Beth Mullally

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  A Dad Says Good-Bye

  I watched her and her mother decorate her college dormitory room. Everything in place, organized and arranged, just so. Attractively designed bulletin board with carefully selected, and precisely cut, colored paper. Pictures and remembrances throughout of her dearest friends. Drawers and boxes under the bed. Her room nicely accommodates not only her clothes, accessories and bric-a-brac, but her roommate's as well. I closely monitor that which I would have, in the past, ignored, knowing that this time is different. As her half of the room takes on her essence, I begin to accept that her room at home is no longer hers. It is now ours. Our room for her when she visits.

  I find myself thinking of when I held her in the cradle of my arm, in the chair alongside my wife's hospital bed. One day old. So small, so beautiful, so perfect, so totally reliant on her new, untested parents. All manner of thoughts went through my mind as I examined her every feature for what seemed to be an eternity. Time marches relentlessly.

  She looks up now, catching me staring at her, causing her to say to her mother, "Mom, Dad's looking at me funny."

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  The last few days, I touch her arm, her faceany thingknowing that when my wife and I return home, she will not be with us and there will be nothing to touch. I have so much to say, but no words with which to say it.

  My life changed from the day I drove this child home from the hospital. I saw myself differently that day, and it has led to a lot of places that I would never have found on my own.

  She says, "It'll be all right, Dad. I'll be home from school soon." I tell her she will have a great year, but I say little else. I am afraid somehow to speak, afraid I'll say something too small for what I'm feeling, and so I only hold on to our good-bye hug a little longer, a little tighter.

  I gaze into her eyes and turn to go. My wife's eyes follow her as she leaves us. Mine do not. Maybe if I don't look, I can imagine that she really hasn't gone. I know that what she is embarking upon is exciting and wonderful. I remember what the world looked like to me when everything was new.

  As I walk to the car with my wife at my side, my eyes are wet, my heart is sore, and I realize that my life is changing forever.

  Joseph Danziger

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  College Talk

  It seemed to come on like the flu. Suddenly, out of nowhere, everyone was talking about college. Lunchtime discussions changed from who's dating whom into who's going to what college and who did or did not get accepted. And just like the flu leaves it's victims feeling awful and helpless, such was the case for this new fascinating subject and me.

  I don't clearly remember the actual conversations. I do, however, remember why I wasn't interested in all this ''college talk." We didn't have enough money for me to go to a real college. I would begin my college years at a junior college. This was the final word and I had accepted it. I didn't even mind terribly. I just wished everyone would stop talking about this university and that Ivy League school.

  The truth is, I was jealous. I had worked so hard to get good grades in school and for what? Each time I found out someone else I knew had just been accepted to the college of their dreams I would turn a deeper shade of green. I didn't like feeling this way, but I couldn't help it. It felt like they were going to jump ahead of me. They were going to have the big life experiences that turn a teenager into an adult and I was going to get left behind.

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  My boyfriend was very sweet and barely mentioned it every time an envelope arrived for him with a ''Congratulations, you've been accepted to yet another college of your choice!" I knew about them only because his parents lacked the sensitivity with which he was so blessed. He always shrugged it off and would tell me, "You would have had the same response. Watch, you'll get a full scholarship to the college of your choice in two years and you can laugh at us all for foolishly killing ourselves to arrive at the same place." He had a point. I just thought it was awfully sweet of him to make sure I saw it this way.

  My friends and I kept in touch those first few months and, more often than not, I was the one offering words of support and understanding. They spoke of roommates from hell, classes they couldn't get into, and the ones they did being so big they couldn't even see their professor. Not only could I see mine, but one of my favorites invited us to his house on a lake. We would go there for class and stay hours afterwards talking and sharing our theories on human behavior. It was because of this class that I decided to major in psychology.

  Needless to say, my tortured thoughts of being left behind while they went out and gathered life experiences in huge doses changed to thoughts of counting my blessings. I was getting a fine serving of life experience. I was letting go of friends and my first true love. I was moving into a humble abode that for the first time in my life I could call my own and I was taking a full load of classes by choice, not requirement.

  As time passed and I grew more and more comfortable with my circumstances, I was also able to understand something I hadn't when I was angry and envious. Real life will be filled with moments of friends making more or loved ones being promoted first. When these things happen, I know I will be prepared. I have already had a taste of this experience and I passed the test quite nicely.

  Kimberly Kirberger

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  The "No Hug" Rule

  The first day of kindergarten

  He hurried to the door

  Shrugging off his mother's hugs

  He didn't need them anymore

  For he was all grown up now

  Too big for all that stuff

  Instead he waved a quick good-bye

  Hoping that would be enough

  When he came home from school that day

  She asked what he had done

  He handed her a paper

  With a big round yellow sun

  A picture quite imperfect

  For he'd messed up here and there

  But she didn't seem to notice

  Or she didn't seem to care

  The first day of junior high

  He hurried to the door

  Running from his mother's hugs

  He didn't want them anymore

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  He ignored her calling out to him

  As he hurried down the street

  Near the intersection

  Where his friends had plan
ned to meet

  He hoped that she would understand

  Why he had to walk to school

  Riding with his mother

  Just wouldn't have been cool

  And when he came home from school

  She asked what he had done

  He handed her some papers

  With Xs marked on more than one

  The teacher clearly pointing out

  The wrong answers here and there

  But his mother didn't seem to notice

  Or she didn't seem to care

  The first day of senior high

  He hurried out the door

  Jumped into the driver's seat

  Of his jacked-up shiny Ford

  He left without his breakfast

  He left without a word

  But he turned and looked back

  Before pulling from the curb

  He saw her waving frantically

  As he drove away

  He tapped his horn just once

  To brighten up her day

  He saw a smile cross her face

  And then he drove from sight

  Onward to a different world

  A new exciting life

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  And at his graduation

  As tears shone in her eyes

  He knew the time had come

  To bid his mom good-bye

  For he was off to college

  Off to better days

  No more rules to abide

  Alone to find his way

  Suitcases filled the trunk

  Of his dirty beat-up Ford

  He couldn't wait to get to school

  To check out his room and dorm

  She opened up his car door

  Closed it when he got in

  Then smiled proudly at her son

  As tears dropped from her chin

  She reached through the open window

  Wished him luck in school

  And then she pulled him close to her

  And broke the "no hug" rule

  He felt the freedom greet him

  As he pulled out on the interstate

  At last his life was his alone

  He anticipated fate

  College life was more challenging

  Than he ever could have hoped

  There was no time to respond to letters

  His mother often wrote

  He was a grown adult now

  Too old for all that stuff

  His visits during holidays

  Would have to be enough

  Besides, midterms were quickly coming

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  The pressure was immense

  He studied late into the night

  His need to pass intense

  He wondered how he'd manage

  How he'd ever cope

  What if he failed his tests?

  Would there be no hope?

  As if he had a calling

  He headed down the interstate

  Driving at full speed

  The hour getting late

  He pulled up to the curb

  Where once he used to roam

  And went through the open door

  Of his mother's home

  She was sitting at the table

  With a drawing in a frame

  Memories from the past

  That brought both joy and pain

  She didn't need to ask

  Why he was home from school

  Because she knew the answer

  When he broke the "no hug" rule

  His arms around her tightly

  Peering at the drawing he had done

  Lots of trees, imperfect branches

  And a big round yellow sun

  She smiled a knowing smile

  And then she spoke aloud

  "Son you always did

  And you always will make me very proud

  For look how far you've traveled

  From that little boy so brave

  Heading off to kindergarten

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  Your hand up in a wave

  And through the years you've made mistakes

  But son I've made them, too

  Being perfect is not an option in life

  Simply do the best you can do

  And don't expect more than that

  For life is supposed to be fun

  You've only got one to live

  Do what is best for you son"

  Sitting in his dorm room

  When the pressure seems too much

  And all that he is striving for

  Seems completely out of touch

  He peers at the drawing

  Of a big round yellow sun

  And then he is reminded

  Of just how far he's come

  From childhood to manhood

  Fighting back many a fear

  Through trials and tribulations

  Holding back many a tear

  Knowing that being successful

  Isn't passing every test

  And the only way to falter in life

  Is by failing to do his best

  And the biggest lesson he's learned

  One he did not learn in school . . .

  That it's okay, for even a man

  To break the "no hug" rule

  Cheryl Costello-Forshey

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  Shoes in the Shower

  You've never done this before. You can't even come up with some neat comparison to a past experience to make you feel less awkward. It doesn't help that everyone else is doing it, since it's because of them that you have to do it in the first place. Suddenly you have to accept this totally backward behavior as if it were logical, from now on, no end in sight.

  In college you wear shoes in the shower. You are halfway across the country, living by yourself for probably the first time. Your childhood seems like it's over. You are surrounded by people you don't know, from places you've never been, who probably all have athlete's foot. Your dorm room is supposed to be the same one you saw on your college tour, but you know it's smaller, colder and uglier than the one you saw when your mom was with you. You walk in and are standing in front of a girl you've never met, who you will have to live with all year. She is dressed differently from you and is from a state you've never visited. You probably have nothing in common. No amount of protective footwear is too drastic under these circumstances.

  The first few days are like a dream. The shower continues to be the testing ground for your ability to adapt to

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  these conditions. You are sure that everyone but you has figured out how to shave her legs in these small cubicles. You glance wistfully at the people in the hall, wondering who could possibly fill in for the best friend you left at home, in whose bathroom you could always go barefoot.

  You cry yourself to sleep a couple of times and find yourself counting the days until Thanksgiving. What were you thinking? The state college thirty minutes away would have been just fine, probably much safer. You call home and tell your parents how homesick you are. Sure, you went to that party Saturday night, which was okay, but surely they understand that that's nothing compared to your misery. Your parents say "Give it a chance" so often that you become convinced that they are putting the phone down next to the family parrot and walking away.

  But after a while, the Shoeless Night happens. It comes to everybody, sooner or later. Perhaps for you it is a midnight McDonald's run with some girls on your floor and a post-McNugget conversation, way into the night. Your fear of various foot diseases begins to fade somewhat. You might actually like some of the girls.

  You might still cry yourself to sleep that night, but something's changed. For a few hours, you got to remove the mythical shoes from the feet of your soul. Because the important thing about The Night is that it is followed by Other Nights. The night of party hopping is preceded by a two-hour primping session with the same girls, before piling far too many of you into one car. The nig
ht of stealing other halls' furniture together allows you to let them see you in the morning after an "I'm too tired to wash my face" night.

  Eventually, when you need to cry (because you still might, for a while), you find yourself walking down the hall to someone else's room instead of getting on the phone to

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  your parents. When you do call them, all you can talk about is that girl down the hall who understands everything you say and listens so well. Your parents are thrilled and begin teaching the parrot to say, "That's great, Honey!"