In the midst of "Hill Day," spent glad handing legislators at the state capitol in Jefferson City on behalf of proprietary education, I texted my daughter Libby, a sophomore at the University of Missouri in Columbia. I suggested an early dinner on my way back home. She texted back announcing multiple evening activities. We settled on Starbucks. 4:00 pm. 60 minutes.
There are many things I could do with an hour. I could watch my favorite CSI or Law and Order. CVS will develop my digital pictures while I check my blood pressure and attempt to select a shampoo from 25 brands. Running on a treadmill will shed more than 600 calories. However, I chose to sip a skinny caramel latte and listen.
[Side Note on the text messaging. I'm still getting used to this phenomenon. I will call Libby three times with no answer. I send a text message and twelve seconds later I get a three paragraph response in APA format. It is definitely the preferred mode of communication. Personally, the texting experience takes me back to 8th grade typing, where I hunted and pecked on the old Smith Corona manual. Hopefully things will improve tomorrow when I get my new Samsung Blackjack II with a full qwerty keyboard!]
After finding a parking spot by God's grace within one block, we strolled into Starbucks and snagged a window side table. The place was bustling with activity and chatter as students studied and gathered with friends. Sitting across from Libby, I realized how things had changed over the past decade and the difference between an hour with a 9 year old and a 19 year old. Those early years were filled with teaching and correction. Every drive in the car, family meal, or bedtime routine was an opportunity for a lecture. Thousands of them. Of course, this role as parents, in devoting endless energy and effort in instruction, is designed to prepare a child for life and its crossroads. And there is hardly a more complicated or dangerous crossroad than college.
Those initial years away from home are filled with countless decisions, some which are trivial and others that significantly alter your life. One moment you're deciding between saugage and pepperoni at Shakespeares and the next day you're changing your major or accepting a summer internship or developing life long friends. As a parent, you have to sit back and watch your child navigate these crossroads on their own. The time for lectures is over. It's time to listen, so that's what I did.
Over the next sixty mintues, I'd asked a question and Libby would talk. She told me about her Econ class and her foreign instructor who received her US citizenship the previous day. I learned about the intermural basketball game between the undefeated Pi Phis and Thetas. She gave me her read of the political pulse on campus (without me interjecting any opinion) and the ethics discussions in the journalism class. She talked excitedly about her upcoming trip to Europe with Debi but equally about the opportunity to go to Haiti this summer as a family on a short term mission trip. We talked about the orphanage project with C3 Missions in Rwanda and the sermon she heard last Sunday at The Crossing, a terrific church in Columbia. At one point Libby whipped out her Treo and shared an email from Nate than made her smile and laugh and glad to have a brother. She updated me on her friend Jess in California, but quickly glossed over my inquiry of her cash flow and budget, only assuring me her work check next week would help. When I commented on how fast the year was going, she raced through the calendar to her finals in early May and then grew quiet. The thought of being half way through college, she said, was somewhat scary. We both knew what she meant. Adulthood comes fast, along with its crossroads. Like graduation and starting a career and living on your own.
I glanced at my watch and saw that our time was up. It had passed too quickly but was so refreshing. It was the perfect gift. One unplanned, uninterrupted, agendaless, lecture-free hour with my daughter, simply listening, laughing, learning and loving every mintute together.
When I dropped Libby off at her sorority, she came around the car and gave me a big hug, kissed my cheek and said, "Love you Daddy."
That's a moment you can't communicate in a text message.
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