Parlour Talk
On the long drive home, our minivan seemed awfully empty. Four of us had departed Delaware the day before with a brimming load of clothes, computer, stereo, sports equipment, linens, lamps, books, and CDs. Now a cavernous vehicle was taking home a family minus one. For our first child at least, 18 years of day-in-day-out parenting is over. He's gone to college.
As we drove north to Massachusetts, my head was spinning with fatherly advice: Be sure to.... Don't forget.... You ought to.... Of course, I didn't actually say any of these things. By the end of a summer of shrugs at parental wisdom about the college experience, we were way beyond that. So I edited my words to the emotional basics as he unpacked his gear: "Stay in touch," I said. "Take good care of yourself.... We'll miss you."
I'm sure his head was spinning as fast as mine--only on a completely different axis. He had his own thoughts about what he was about to do, and a few hours after we arrived on campus, you could already see him start to change. He strode purposefully ahead of us while we stood wondering where to go next. He seemed distracted by our simple questions, as though he had already decided everything that needed to be decided. And when we finally said good-bye, standing next to the empty car, he hugged us lovingly (even his brother got one), then bounded up the steps of his dorm without a look back. As we drove away, I remembered a moment that morning when another first-year student asked him where he lived. He had replied matter-of-factly, "I used to live in Delaware."
Change, of course, is what college is all about. At its best, the college experience is a journey of self-discovery, intellectual awakening, and personal transformation--even falling in love. Who would send a son or daughter to college to graduate unchanged?
The most profound changes come in the ways college students think of themselves. For most, there is a wonderful moment when they realize that they can respond to the question: "Who are you?" by saying, "I am a scientist," "I am a historian," or "I am a writer." Their answer might be different at different times--another happy result of the rich concentration of ideas and opportunities found at a liberal arts college--yet the first such epiphany is often the best because suddenly all the others seem possible.
For increasing numbers of students at Swarthmore, one likely answer is: "I am an artist." The rise of the studio arts at the College is an example of how a liberal arts curriculum evolves. A stagnant Swarthmore would never have embraced studio arts as part of its curriculum, but a dynamic Swarthmore has. The strong department that has emerged in the past 20 years only increases the depth and richness of the College's academic program.
One of my unspoken pearls of parental wisdom was this: No matter how you define yourself today, you can--and probably will--become something else tomorrow. As for me, I started college as an English major, but eight semesters later I graduated with a degree in studio art. It doesn't matter that I am now a magazine editor; the glory of it all is that change continues to be possible for me--and for Swarthmore.
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