It all started Wednesday. After a quick stop by the mini-fridge to grab my requisite Diet Coke before calculus, I opened the door to my hall and was struck by a very foreign combination of odors and sounds. The monotonic hum of Dirt Devils. The fresh pine scent of Lysol. Our floor had not been this sterile since the RAs arrived in August.
Thinking little of the random display of cleanliness, I continued down the stairs only to encounter a mass of boys lugging their nifty plastic hampers to the Metcalf laundry room. "How adorable," I figured. "Male bonding over the complexities of liquid Tide and spin cycles."
Only later, as I was zoning out somewhere between a theorem and one of those word problems involving fencing and one side of a barn, did it hit me: my dormmates were not rapidly turning into anal germaphobes! This unusual undertaking of mundane chores was all a matter of very careful, wise preparation. Out with the Party Pics, mixology posters, back issues of "Maxim" and textbooks shrouded in shrink-wrap. In with strategically-placed highlighted notes, a de Tocqueville volume, "The Wallstreet Journal" and photos of the family dog. It was mobilization time.
For Parent's Weekend, of course.
I've been warned that the integration of college and family can be deceptively tricky, if not outwardly stressful. The commingling of the two worlds is not unlike a USEM -- two hours once a week discussing the culture of France or the art of journal writing seems like a good idea until one actually has to sit through the class. Similarly, one may feel genuine excitement and joy at the thought of spending time with Mom and Dad, until Saturday night rolls around and it's time to end the performance and send the pair back to the Courtyard Marriott. Curious as to whether this would be the general sentiment among my new friends, I found myself eager to 'meet the parents' and hopefully glean some understanding of everyone's secondary life outside of Charlottesville.
As the flurry of minivans and Mercedes SUVs descended upon Charlottesville, I realized I would be an orphan, (Arizona is a substantial plane ride away, and my brother finally is playing quarterback for his football team -- go Broncos!). Fortunately, however, I was adopted by several generous families and treated to a much-appreciated weekend of good food and good conversation, (Southern hospitality never ceases to amaze me).
The festivities began with my future roommate, as we ventured to show her mother the apartment we had leased for next year. This was one of those heinous situations where we had camped in the rain for 14 hours and signed a contract at 3 a.m., accepting what was available out of pure exhaustion. As soon as her mother saw the pipe protruding from the ceiling and the lack of proper ventilation, we realized MSC's gross misrepresentation of its unit (as well as our own stupidity). As our lease was shredded before our very eyes, I silently appreciated the value of a feisty, protective mother, and I finally understood the source of my friend's own proactive nature.
Later, following an afternoon of frantic phone calls to Charlottesville's plethora of rental agencies, I returned to a dorm crawling with visitors and activity. One girl's dad had removed all the furniture and carpet from her room and brought in a hose vacuum and half of Teeter's cleaning aisle in an admirable attempt to sterilize the infected dorm environment. Another mother waddled up the stairs hauling enough packaged snack food from Sam's Club to feed a preschool class for a week. And as I dressed for dinner with my friends and their parents, my poor hallmate found refuge in my room to vent about her weekend plans: analysis of the variations in Lawn garden gates, apple picking at Carter Mountain and the Virginia Gentlemen. How thankful I was to be U.Va. Child No. 2.
The Downtown Mall, though clearly in the midst of generating its entire October profit margin, provided a welcome escape from the hectic atmosphere of Metcalf. Dinner conversation centered around typical first-year topics -- how we had survived U.Va.'s mysterious admissions process, the rigor of college-level academics, the lack of sleep and abundance of unhealthy food. I was reminded of the universality of parental concern -- clearly my mother was not alone in attempting to monitor nutritional intake and rest from 3,000 miles away.
The post-dinner scene shifted back to the Corner, where I was surprised to find the median age at the usual Saturday-night watering holes had increased by about 20 years. One has to love those Dads seeking the vicarious college experience and reenactment of their past days of glory, (as well as their open tabs). The night was quite entertaining, I'm not going to lie -- especially when one is unaccustomed to partying within sight of (or with) Mom and Dad. (I also gained a sense of where my friends inherited their tolerance.)
By the time I returned from Sunday brunch at The Boars Head, (again, that Southern hospitality,) Metcalf had assumed its usual state and pace -- back to the unpleasant odor of unflushed toilets and dull pulses of bass reverberating through the walls. Parent's Weekend had come and gone as quickly as it had appeared, and everyone was exhausted. It was time to reconnect with friends, share some weekend stories and collectively appreciate the beauty of independent college life.
And as a closing sidenote, I would like to mention that boys who are sweet to their mothers and/or sisters (i.e. public displays of filial affection, letting Mom fix the hair or tie, carrying a sister's suitcase, etc.) are such a turn-on.
Remember boys, it might be beneficial to make that standard behavior.
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