Opportunistic Correspondence

Worth a pack of Red Vines and some Smarties

Our oldest son Jackson has attended USC now for two months, and although our empty-nest days won’t arrive for another decade, our nest still feel a little bit empty. We just don’t hear from him enough.

Seasoned parents advise me to savor Jackson’s reticence, because (they say) boys call home for three reasons:

1) They need money
2) They are in trouble (myriad kinds and degrees of which friends say I do NOT want to know)
3) They are failing to adjust

Friends say these three purposes for contact leave moms strung up and tortured, paralyzed for weeks with anxiety. Meanwhile, Johnny runs off to the football game, meets a cute girl, and forgets he ever called to unload his problems.

Jackson calls once a week or so, Skypes with us a few times a month, and seems to exude an I-am-so-glad-I-went-away-to-college vivacity, about which we are thrilled–er, I mean, pleased, if the converse would be an I-am-a-screw-up-idiot-pot-head-college-failure update, or a my-new-nickname-is-insufficient-funds notice.

I would, however, appreciate just a little harmless deception. How about a hint of homesickness, Jackson? Not like you’re distraught, a moping loner or cipher haunting the food court, or even like you realize how much we’ve done for you, and suddenly appreciate all of my hard work surviving your 34-hour labor, the nightly three-hour colic fits (for seven months straight), the countless diaper explosions, acid reflux, potty-training mishaps, public tantrums, inclement weather sports practices, poster projects (last-minute panic, remember?), vats full of prepared food you and your friends inhaled, the snakes, the turtles, tarantulas, Hannibal the bearded dragon, pro-abortion dinner debates, the totaled car, the FAFSA, and you leaving. I don’t expect you to appreciate the sacrifice in all of that.*

But how about faking a tiny bit of Geez-Mom-and-Dad-you-guys-are-hard-to-live-away-from? Or, could you feign a little Dad-I-sure-miss-scraping-and-loading-the-dinner-dishes-with-you-because-you-always-told-the-greatest-jokes?

See, the astute college student recognizes the connection between charity-deception in parental correspondence, and care packages. Candy-loaded, money-laced, holiday-themed, middle-of-the-week and for-no-good-reason mailed care packages. Because, just as we loved you through all your mishaps and adventures, we love you now, and we want to show it. Just throw us a miss-you-Mom-and-Dad bone, huh?

So, Jackson, I’ll pretend you didn’t read this, and I’ll start on a new Flat-Rate Priority Mail box, awaiting your next email, phone call, or extended text.

*Mom, I appreciate your sacrifice in all of that with me. I love you.