As I prepare for a spring break college tour across California with my 16-year-old son, my husband, and our younger child, I can’t help but reflect on this significant milestone. Parenting experts often remind us, “It’s not about you,” when planning college visits, and while they’re correct, I can’t shake the nostalgia and emotions that surface as I think back to my own journey at this stage in life. Parenthood has a way of transporting us back to our youth, conjuring vivid memories of our own experiences.
In 1990, I embarked on a similar adventure with my mother, traveling from San Diego to explore various college campuses during my spring break. My mom was overjoyed to take time off work and afford the trip. We cruised up the coast in her trusty ’88 Honda Civic, blasting music from a cassette player, and seeking out roadside motels by their glowing “Vacancy” signs. We laughed, sang, and relished the stunning views. At UC Santa Cruz, we quickly departed the tour when I whispered that it was not the place for me. My mom, a free-spirited soul, would have thrived there, while I tried to navigate the conventional expectations of the time. Nevertheless, we left with a Banana Slug shirt, a nod to my quirky sense of humor, even amidst my attempts to fit in.
That trip was filled with hope and excitement. We didn’t know how we would pay for college, but that concern felt distant. With my son now 16, I understand the bittersweet mix of pride, joy, relief, and heartache my mother must have felt as she neared the end of her parenting journey.
Before our road trip, my mom moved us from an inviting 1920s Spanish bungalow near Balboa Park to a nondescript apartment complex in a well-regarded school district further north. I transitioned from a small, alternative school to a larger, more conventional high school. My mom commuted far to give me the best educational opportunities. As an educational editor and former professor, she helped me hone my writing skills, while I worked hard to be the “well-rounded” student that colleges favored in the ‘90s. Whenever I faltered, she reminded me of the sacrifices she made for my education, navigating a world where she felt like an outsider.
We were a quirky, liberal family in a suburban environment that felt foreign. My mom’s commitment to my education never wavered, and there was never a question that I would attend college—my future was bright with hard work and determination. The American Dream felt alive during our spring break road trip, especially in those days when UC tuition was minimal, making it easier for us despite our financial struggles.
Now, as I contemplate my son’s perspective on his future, I wonder what he thinks of his unorthodox mother. Perhaps he’ll share his thoughts when he’s older, preparing to take his own child on a college tour. Our upcoming trip promises to be comfortable—better accommodations, a more reliable vehicle, and less financial strain. I plan to crank up the volume on some classic tunes, feeling the ocean breeze as we drive.
Yet, despite all the conveniences we’ll have, I doubt we’ll surpass the joy my mother and I experienced in 1990. That connection, filled with laughter and hope, is irreplaceable.
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Summary
This article reflects on a mother’s emotional journey as she prepares to embark on a college tour with her son, evoking memories of her own experiences. The narrative emphasizes the significance of these milestones for both parents and children, highlighting the challenges and hopes that accompany them.