When freshers fly the nest

Packing your child off on their first term of university can be an emotional business, as Harvey J. Kaye relates

I entered this academic year in a new role - not as a student, not merely as a professor, but as the parent of a university student. We took our first child, Rhiannon, to the University of Virginia to commence her freshman year in the school of architecture.

The nest has started to empty. The process began a year ago, when Rhiannon applied to Virginia "early decision" (wherein a student applies early and only to their first choice university, rather than later to several, in hopes of securing an offer in December, instead of months later, in April). Smartly, UVA - "The University", as Virginians call it - accepted her, so we had more than enough time to prepare ourselves materially and emotionally. Or so I thought.

The prospect of Rhiannon's studying at Virginia thrilled me. Envisioned, designed and built by Thomas Jefferson in Charlottesville, within view of Monticello, Jefferson's beloved mountain-top estate, the university lies not far from the Shenandoah Mountains and possesses a gorgeous campus, referred to as "the grounds".

Virginia ranks "first" among American public universities; its school of architecture stands among the top ten in the country; and, in the revolutionary spirit of the university's founder, the school has taken the lead in the sustainable design movement, under the leadership of its "Green Dean", William McDonough.

Securing early acceptance, Rhiannon avoided the long anxious period of waiting to hear from admissions offices; but I now realise it also meant a longer period of my trying to deny the fact that our baby would be leaving home.

We spent the spring and summer in a seemingly relaxed manner, reminiscing with Rhiannon about our own first-year experience. We resolved to make the 1000-mile journey to UVA with Rhiannon's clothes, tchotchkes, books, and CDs by flying to my sister's home near Washington DC and renting a car for the two-hour drive to Charlottesville.

While Rhiannon's younger sister, Fiona, started asserting sole claim to their shared bedroom, I evaded thinking about her big sister's departure by approaching it in a scholarly fashion. I studied the UVA catalogue. I picked up Guy Wilson's illustrated monograph, Thomas Jefferson's Academical Village, a couple of Jefferson biographies, and a collection of Jefferson's writings. As well, I bought Roger Lewis' Architect? - A Candid Guide to the Profession and innumerable design magazines to acquaint myself with the latest developments.

I threw myself into the whole thing even more than Rhiannon did. She just wanted to enjoy her last several months of high school. However, in late July, the tasks of organising accounts and selecting what was to stay and what was to go were pressing. I urged travelling light, for my impending assignment was to lug all the stuff up the residence-hall stairs in the southern heat and humidity. Also, with piles of material arriving from UVA and assorted vendors, Rhiannon eventually received a letter from her roommate-to-be, a Hong-Kong Chinese student who had orders to pursue something "practical", but had personal aspirations to read linguistics.

The night before we set out, I took the family to Rhiannon's favourite steakhouse, after which we spent the evening playing our favourite boardgames. I intended to give Rhiannon lots of sage advice, but never got around to it. Anyhow, she'd heard it all before.

Arriving in Charlottesville, we joined the masses of nervous-yet-hopeful parents and 18-year-olds. Students eyed each other warily and then introduced themselves; parents, passing each other on the flights of stairs, burdened with cases and boxes, shared their own anxieties by joking about serving as their kids' "bearers" and about how much stuff had to be squeezed into such tiny rooms. I remarked how "education is wasted on the young" and wondered to myself if all my perspiration would reduce the moisture flowing to my tear ducts later in the day.

Sweating from our labours, we attended a welcome address by president John Casteen. Instinctively hostile towards administrators, I nevertheless liked him and what he had to say. Jefferson's presence could be felt everywhere. At the architecture school, the dean impressed me by speaking of contemporary architecture's revolutionary challenges. Suppressing the pain of separation, I kept repeating how exciting Rhiannon's next four years would be, unaware she had just told her mum that she felt rather intimidated by the scale and grandeur of the place.

Friends of ours who teach in the UVA history department had invited us for dinner, so I had an excuse to move things along. Kindly, they had chilled a couple of beers to refresh and console us, and they promised to check on Rhiannon's progress. Driving up to DC later that evening, I asked Lorna if we should ring Rhiannon (hoping she'd say yes), but she thought we should resist doing so.

Starting the new term back in Wisconsin, I looked at my first-year students and saw dozens of daughters and sons, and I wondered how their parents were faring. We commiserated with our close friends who had just returned from taking their firstborn son to the University of Colorado to start engineering school. And my secretary - who previously worked in our university's counselling centre - sympathetically referred me to Letting Go: A Parents' Guide to Today's College Experience. Meanwhile, Rhiannon keeps us informed by phone and email (God bless the Internet), and we look forward to Virginia's autumn family weekend.

Harvey J. Kaye is Rosenberg professor of social change and development at the University of Wisconsin-Green Bay.