But, at least I'm not a First-Year Student

Yesterday I mentioned those fresh-faced baby geniuses that I'm about to share my campus with.

(How do I know they are geniuses? Well, I don't, but since this fresh-faced baby (no, not me; the other one) is one of their contemporaries, they they had better be pretty dang smart.)

And as I've seen the new first-year students around campus these past couple of weeks, I've heard bits of their conversations. With each other, with their orientation leaders, and with their parents. Ah, conversations with the parents. I remember those days.

But being older now, I don't just hear the frustration in the student's voices. I don't just see in their body language that they are eager to lose these old people and get their life started. I do see the flashes of terror that occasionally cross their faces at the thought of this major life change. I see them being overawed at the size of this campus.

Mostly though, at this point in my life, I see the parents. I haven't been on that side of the college experience (and won't be for a very long time), but I've seen my own parents do it three times. I've seen aim parents do it. I've especially seen dear friends these past few years have to step back as their firstborn flies from the nest and into a huge world. I ache for them, even as I want them to get out of my way because I'd like to get into the library. This is an even bigger change for them than it is for their kiddos.

Signs have changed: In more ways than one.

(I don't think that anyone who failed to notice the signs changing will be suddenly convinced by the appearance of a new sign.)