My Dad is coming to visit us again in a couple of weeks. He’s thinking much more seriously about moving into a particular assisted living community, one fairly close to Max and me. So far Dad and I have been on two rounds of tours of such facilities, one in August in New York near the Taconic Parkway when Sarah died, and then one we took of facilities near the DC area a few months later last fall.
I see this as a parallel to the college (and law school) visits Dad and I did together many years ago. Dad didn’t go away to college back in the day; he attended Brooklyn College (and then Yale and MIT for grad school) so this is really my chance to launch him as he did me. We have an appointment to re-visit his top choice campus, which I’ll call “Swarthmore,” a really nice school with a lot going on, a nice mixture of diverse old kids and an appealingly active campus vibe. Dad already visited in October and liked it but was hesitant to make any commitment. He just wasn’t ready.
The facility he visited in New York in August, which I’ll call “Middlebury,” was very nice and full of bright old kids, but isolated, and I would say that you have to be totally into skiing to want to go there, which Dad is not. So he ruled that out. He has also ruled out some of the local places which I’ll call “George Washington,” “James Madison,” and “University of Virginia.” They were a bit generic, although perfectly pleasant, and the University of Virginia only offered kosher food which was not a plus.
So Dad’s first choice is Swarthmore and we are returning there to see if he really wants to enroll. I’ve been having a lot of flashbacks and ruminations lately to my own college application process. I don’t remember why I chose any of the colleges I applied to, and some of them, in hindsight, are senseless choices. I applied to Middlebury. No idea why; I have never skied in my life and don’t like very cold weather as a rule. Also lacked the grades to get in. Connecticut College. Had a horrible visit staying in a dorm with giant “Reagan” posters everywhere. Brandeis. Applied because it was near my aunt and uncle’s house. That’s all I remember. Oberlin. Actually wanted to go there, because I had a fun visit with some nice kids. Beloit. No earthly idea why I applied to this school; did I hear the name somewhere and think it sounded French or something? No clue.
Usually I try not to relitigate the past and the choices that got me where I am now. I did well in college and launched from there to law school, career, life etc. Nothing to bemoan. Maybe I’m chewing on this period of my life a little bit because I was 16 at the time of applying to college, and Sarah was 16 at the time she died. It feels like an unreasonably vulnerable and tender age to be making life choices and big changes. Why would we allow a 16 year-old to make such a sweeping decision?
When Dad and I drove to my scheduled overnight visit at Connecticut College, we headed out from New York City in our family’s Volkswagen over the George Washington Bridge, but our car started having trouble right when we were on top of the bridge. It conked out and died. It was a very memorable experience. We couldn’t get out of the car as traffic whizzed by us, we just had to sit tight and wait for traffic assistance to discover us (this was pre-cell phone). I remember I was scared, but I felt safe with my Dad. It was also a little bit exciting, like we were having an adventure. I hope Sarah felt this way too.
The First Year Without Sarah 