Seeing some of my friends’ children head off to college for the first time last month reminded me of my freshman year. After pouring seventeen years of love, discipline, advice, and hard-earned money into their restless boy, my parents loaded up my sisters and me (to my chagrin this would be a family affair) into the station wagon and made the day-long drive to college.

Registration was under way, and campus teemed with hundreds of anxious parents spending precious last hours with their progeny before leaving their not-quite-adult scholars to an uncertain future. Offers of help finding classrooms and decorating the bare cinderblock dorm room were declined as self-conscious freshman desperately tried to look like sophomores.

My parents spent the night at a nearby hotel and took me out for one more good meal before departing the next day. It was awkward. On the one hand I was excited about the future and eager to be on my own, but as my parents turned into the dorm parking lot to drop me off for the last time, a huge lump came into my throat as I realized the moment was finally here. I’d never been away from them more than a few days before. And suddenly it hit me that I wouldn’t see them ‘till Thanksgiving.

Dad cleared his throat a lot and Mom cried as she hugged me close, and then they loaded up in the Caprice Classic and waved until they were out of sight. I felt instantly lonely and fought back tears, but as I walked inside, a bunch of guys were throwing a football down the hall and energy filled the air. My new roommate arrived, and without unpacking a thing, we ran out back to join the pickup game.

I’d always had family and close friends, but suddenly I had a dorm full of buddies—lots of them, and we had a blast. We shot potato guns, launched water balloons, rappelled out our fifth floor window, and piled all of our mattresses at the bottom of the stairwell as a giant trampoline. The freshman dorm was a free-for-all running wide open ‘till the wee hours of the morning. Sleep was optional. Even after a long night unloading trucks at Roadway, my buddies and I would stop at IHOP for a stack of pancakes and then play cards until almost dawn.

Over the next few years, I learned a lot (some of it even in class). But one of the biggest lessons I learned was that when you’re a long ways away from home, buddies may take your family’s space, but they’ll never take their place.

Buddies are great, and I’ve hundreds of them throughout life in the military. But they come and then they go. They’re lifelong well-wishers and great guys all, but inevitably our lives carry us different directions and years later the only contact we have is an occasional Christmas card.

If you’ve had a lot of buddies, count yourself lucky. But if you have a family that sticks by you and a few really close friends, count yourself blessed. They’re the ones who will be there when you’re struggling and will pull you through when tragedy strikes.

So Moms and Dads, even though right now it may seem like your college-aged children have forgotten you, they’ll eventually come to realize that the ones who’ll be there whenever and wherever for the rest of their lives were the ones waving out the back of the station wagon window.



Craig Ziemba is a military pilot who lives in Meridian. To have him speak at your event, email craigziemba@aol.com.