Our roadtrip to drop Max off for Chapter College

We are heading south on Interstate 5 with our Prius packed top to bottom full of Max’s stuff. Marty and I are sharing a small suitcase. We’re heading for Santa Clara to drop our eldest for his freshmen year at Santa Clara University. I don’t know how to feel. I am a jumble of emotions. I am thrilled that Max is heading to a school he thinks he will love. I am pleased our son has been accepted to a school we believe is a good fit for him. I am ready for my 18-year-old to begin his new life so I can worry less about what time he is coming home. It’s time. My workmates say all of the appropriate things when Marty and Max pick me up at WEA.
“He’s a man.”
“He’s so tall. He is a grown up.”
Those who have sent their own children give me a knowing smile and a hug. Those who have yet to go through this process or those who never will are kind and supportive.
We head toward Portland. We get to have a “bye bye” dinner with Uncle Al, Aunt Karen, Baba Claire and Grandpa Arne.
Max answers every question for the umpteenth time.
“What courses are you taking?”
“Are you excited?”
“Are you nervous?”
He’s gracious but admits that he just wants to BE there as these questions are getting OLD.
He visits a camp friend at Reed. On his way back to Karen and Al’s, he calls.
“I’m lost,” he says.
I tell him it’s okay and hand the cell phone to Marty. He’s not really lost. He’s just a few blocks off as he probably wasn’t paying that much attention heading to Reed in Portland in the dark. When he arrives home, I tiptoe down Karen and Al’s stairs. Max is at their computer.
I walk up to him and say, “I am so glad you felt comfortable to call to say you were lost. If you are EVER lost over these next few years or ever in your life, call us. We may not be able to get you out of it, but we will support you in any way we can.” I find it symbolic. Max nods and goes back to the computer.
The next day, I shed the first few tears as I see him sleeping in the back seat through the rear view mirror. He’s still my little boy even though he is a man. We give our little boy the wheel of the car after a tasty breakfast in a Roseburg diner.
We want him to “own” the curvy drive in Southern Oregon and over the mountains into California. He first started learning how to drive on that road. He would steer at 14 while I operated the gas pedal. Once he got his permit, he took over on that part of the drive. It is truly where he learned highway driving over mountains – the summer after he returned from Israel as a 16-year-old. He drives too quickly both figuratively and literally into California. It’s golden. It’s green. Of course, the sun comes out just as we cross the border. Of course.
We plough on to Redding where we were going to stay the night but since it is late afternoon, we decide to go all the way to Vallejo where a good friend attends the California Maritime Academy. Vallejo is a smarmy area. Her campus, however, is extremely beautiful. It feels and smells like Camp Alonim. She lives on a ship. She and Max are happy to be reunited as they did not get a chance to see one another at the end of the summer before she departed. We go out for burgers. The people around us are more than downtrodden. I think about what Bernie says – I think about how he says more people are like that than not and how this is the REAL America. We sleep in a hotel that costs the three of us $57 total. It’s clean and quiet but the person at the desk tells me we would be smart to empty the car of our valuables. We do. Max drops us off and we empty the car then he goes with his friend to stay a bit longer. We are asleep when he arrives home. I hope the two will stay friends as I have always wanted to watch this particular friend grow into the woman she is becoming. She’s something. I hope they continue to stay connected.
Somewhere along the road that day, Marty is reading aloud from the paper that they have found a new star which rotates around two suns. I picture myself as the star rotating around my two sons and wonder how that will change as one of my sons is heading for a different quadrant of the universe. I wonder why I think of myself as a star but realize it’s mostly about the two suns/sons deal.
The big drive the day before allows us a very leisurely Friday. We breakfast in Walnut Creek with our friends. Breakfast there costs more than the whole night’s lodging. Walnut Creek is about 20 miles from Vallejo. It’s a world away in terms of socio-economics. Michael has already been hired after being laid off a few weeks back. His aggressive push to find work paid off. He is happy. He and Dana are both relieved. It is good to be with them. Max gets to answer those questions one more time but also receives some nice words of wisdom.
We buy a trashcan for his room. We drive to Cupertino where we stay in a Kimpton Hotel. We get a great deal there and enjoy the luxury of a nice pool and beautiful room. Max is quiet now. He is not eating as much and he can’t figure it out. We suggest it is nerves or excitement. He does not agree.
We have a lovely Italian dinner together then hit Target for the BIG toiletry purchase. I find myself opening my wallet everywhere and anywhere to make sure he HAS what he NEEDS. We buy enough shampoo and the such for the first two quarters methinks. Does he really need six boxes of tissue? Well, yes. He is suffering a sinus infection but he refuses to go to the doctor to help knock it out of his otherwise healthy system.
We watch Bridesmaids back at the hotel. Who said that was good? It wasn’t. It was bad. We sleep.
We wake up early and get Max moving. He is excited but dragging because he is not used to these EARLY mornings. He is visibly excited and nervous that morning. He admits that he is nervous and excited as we grab Noah’s bagels across the street from our fine hotel before making the nine mile journey to Santa Clara University.
We arrive and go to a little fair on the lawn where we spend another thirty bucks on computer insurance which sounds too good to be true. We talk to different venders. Max signs up for free “stuff.” We head for Campisi, the name of his dorm. His residential learning community is Communitas. His room is on the first floor right by a door to head out into the sun whenever necessary. He arrives first.
He is texting with roommate Josh. Josh is making his way toward SCU. Max chooses a bed , a closet and a desk but is willing to swap anything with Josh upon arrival.
We unpack. We unpack everything. We hang and put things away. We make the bed with brand new extra long soft, 100 percent cotton sheets. We put pillows – old and new on the bed. The stuffed animal pillow cow purchased in Israel after his bar mitzvah is there. The new backrest pillow from Aunt Karen and Uncle Al is there. A couple of little posters go up. The Sounders flag given to Max by the Eisenbergs isn’t going up as it needs more than the adhesive we have. No worries.
Josh arrives with mom Barbara and Grandma Patricia. We meet. They all seem nice. Now there are six of us in a dorm room. We head for B,B &B to pick up all the stuff we ordered in Seattle. Marty is extremely worried about the blow up mattress I have purchased because it is made of a plastic that is very bad and that is poisonous. He feels strongly that we ought not purchase the bed. I explain all of the research I did to make the decision and decided it was okay to get the mattress as it will only be used if there are guests in the room. Marty is not convinced at all. He begins looking for something else. There is tension. We head back for lunch and enjoy seeing Joey who is working hard. It seems like he has matured a great deal. I feel comforted that Max has a “big bro” if necessary. They are neighbors…Joe lives in the same quad.
Appliances are plugged in. Lamps don’t work. Alarm clocks need setting and so on. We go to purchase books. Max has to go back and forth to the dorm to pick up more specific descriptions of his classes before we purchase. Marty vaporizes and has no cell phone with him. We are angry but only for a couple of minutes. That is about the extent of the tension that Saturday. The main goal is to SETTLE Max in and he seems to be doing that very well.
The students have ice breakers. We head for a welcome. The welcome is held on the St. Ignatius lawn. The weather is, of course, perfect. The weather has, of course, been perfect from the moment we crossed the border. The campus is ablaze in roses and other warm-colored flowers. Max comes for the welcome and sits with friends. Duh.
We take Josh and Max out for our “last supper.” They want to go to that fine California establishment, In and Out. We comply. We drink shakes and eat fries and get to know Josh. Josh seems like a good guy. I feel good about that. We drop them off and they head for their first night of college life. We head to the Candlewood Suites. We are tired from lots of just hanging around.
I am obsessed with making sure Max gets the proper desk lamp so I am up and heading for Target by 8 AM Sunday. I find the perfect desk lamp. I find two groovy chairs for Josh and Max on clearance for $11 each. Do I call? I just buy and figure the chairs will end up somewhere in the dorm even if the two boys don’t like them.
I knock on their door at 9:30 AM knowing full well that they are sacked out. After my third try, Max wakes up. I wave to Josh who is sacked out and bring in the chairs and the lamp. They have to be nice. It’s funny. I tell Max I’ll see him at MASS at ten. There are some words I have never said to him, “I’ll see you at mass.”
Marty and Max both do not really want to go to mass. I am hell bent on doing that community activity. It, too, is on the St. Ignatius lawn. I can’t remember the last time I attended a mass. The Catholics, like the Jews, love ritual. It’s interesting and fun to watch. They say, “Thanks be to God.” I say it like Arthur or Bruce or Billy Crystal or any Jewish guy pretending to be an old Jewish guy from the old country would say it. We find similar things in the service. Lose the Jesus and some of the songs sound just like Debbie Friedman songs. Holy, holy, holy….hmmmm, very Kadosh, Kadosh, Kadosh.
Max is bored. He has worn nice shorts and a shirt. I appreciate it. I try to enjoy our last minutes together knowing we are heading out after the reception after mass. I am happy. I am sad.
At the end of mass, the priest asks all the parents to put their hands on the shoulders of their children. Marty and I put our hands on Max’s head. The priest says repeat after me, “The Lord bless you and keep you….” We say, “Yevarechecha adonai veyishmerecha.” The priest says,” The Lord make his face to shine upon you ,”and we say, “Ya’er adonai panav elecha veyichunecha.” Max has his arms around us. I am finally crying. The tears are finally flowing freely. Marty’s eyes are wet. Max is taking it in. He is taking in the blessing and gets it that it is a blessing we have said every Friday night before Shabbat dinner. Over his 18 years, he has been blessed from the first Shabbat when his car seat sat on the Shabbat dinner table with him in it to years of loving getting the blessing to years of ducking away, putting up with it to, finally, being grown up enough to understand that it is a blessing we truly mean and want for him each time we say it. The priest says, “The Lord lift up his countenance to you and grant you peace as we say, “Yisa adonai panav elecha veyasem lecha shalom.”
To me, this is a very beautiful moment. It is a moment where, once more, I appreciate that there is a deliberate intention to create community and to let parents know that our children will be cared for and nurtured on this campus. The service ends and we head for the reception. It is a sweet and kind of awkward few minutes as we know we are departing soon.
As we walk Max back to his dorm, no his residential learning community, no his new home, he tells us about his agenda for the day: Open his new razor scooter and scooter around campus, play Frisbee, attend the women’s soccer game against Stanford, try to watch the Seahawks, get his new post office box. We implore him to stop with us to buy school supplies but he insists he is fine (three days later he calls to say he needs school supplies). We stand outside the dorm and give him one last long hug each. It feels right. It feels okay. We are sad, but we are solid knowing these are the next steps.
We hang about on campus for another half an hour – lingering in his new home turf.
Then, we walk away. Just like that. We get in the car and head to Bernie’s house to say hi to Bernie and Frances. We drive all the way up to Dunsmuir and stay in a great little hotel. We continue north and breakfast in Ashland when Max calls to ask which books are for what classes. We don’t have the heart to tell him that all of the book stuff will be OUT of class rather than in. He’ll figure it out. He sounds happy. The night before, he won a burrito and a T-shirt at the soccer game.
“Mom, I won a free burrito and a free t-shirt at the game last night.”
I am glad the school is nourishing him even before classes begin and I want to say, “That isn’t actually free. You’re actually paying 8 bazillion dollars for that in tuition, room, board, fees, etc.” but I just tell him it’s great that he got a free meal.
Marty and I arrive home on Tuesday. Last night, I went downstairs for the first time since we got home. Max’s room is empty. It surprised me. It was time. We’re glad he’s on his way, but I’m still surprised how fast it happened. Write to Max if you want: Max Westerman SCU 2077 500 El Camino Real Santa Clara, CA 95053.

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~ by ewesterman on September 22, 2011.