one robert, two cats, no kids

(still thinking about that six-word biography meme.)

A few weeks ago, I tweeted that upon my return to work after my first honeymoon, a coworker asked naughtily, "So, did you do any family planning while you were gone?" He didn't even have to wink at me. "Yes, I replied, but not quite the kind you're thinking about." Much thought has gone into that family planning, resulting, thankfully for me, in no kids.

The decision I've made will result in several outcomes. Besides the obvious -- no diaper changing and no middle-of-the-night feedings, I'll never have the opportunity to sniffle through a kindergarten graduation or squirm through a piano recital given by 30 7-year olds. I'll never hear one of my children say "don't worry, mom, you can move in with me when you get old." Or, as one friend recently heard from one of his kids, "Dad, when you get old, don't expect me to change your diaper."

But there's one sweet mothering opportunity I recently experienced without the benefit of the preceding eighteen years. My old college buddy who lives in Albuquerque recently sent his freshman son off to college in my area. And the son's best friend is also a freshman at the same institute. When first approached, I said that I'd be delighted to help them through the transition.

So from the dad, I got a blow-by-blow description of the departure -- the dad trying to savor every moment while not going too deep, the experience of momentous change in every day acts, the anticipation of longing for his son, the excitement about the adventure that he couldn't quite express, at least to his son, the memories of his own awful lonesome arrival at college in the rainy dark of night.

We picked up the young men at the airport on Tuesday night. They were exhuasted and I think a little eager to get to school. We brought them home, fed them, put them to bed early, and fed them again the next morning. Then, on my way to work, I drove them to their new adventure. We got to watch the other kids unload their cars -- so overloaded with ridiculous useless items that my two guys started to feel virtuous. "Where are they going to put all that stuff?" one asked. Our rooms aren't that big.

At one point, I saw a young parent carrying a TV set and mentioned how hard it was to get used to the idea of TVs in one's dorm room. I can't remember a single TV during my college experience except for one in a professor's house. This caused me to launch into mentioning that we also didn't have phones in our rooms. One of the guys was shocked -- "How on earth did you communicate with each other?" I said that there was a phone at the end of each hall and if it rang, someone answered it, then came and knocked on the door of the person being called. We left notes in our mailboxes and we saw each other at the one dining hall. "Ooh," he said, trying to imagine it, "sounds complicated."

I've got to say that I was really impressed by these two. They seemed totally adult-ready, even running on hungry and tired fumes. They asked us questions about ourselves and politely engaged in conversation with us. They told us about their summer adventures canvassing, one for a politician, one for an organization. They even insisted on loading the dishwasher for us after breakfast. (I'm definitely not used to having guests who insist on helping, especially after I say that there's no need).

They also expressed their gratitude to us several times. The friend of the friend's son said how much he appreciated our taking a complete stranger in our home. These thoughts required stepping outside of the self-centeredness of childhood into what I consider to be a more adult empathy for others in the world.

I immediately wrote to my friend and told him he'd done a great job raising this young man. I look forward to meeting both young people again.