Dorm Life - Not the Way it Used to Be

by Felice Prager

We followed our son who was driving his pickup truck filled with his stuff. We were in our SUV filled with more of his stuff. From a computer to plastic, stackable, color-coordinated crates to extra-long sheets to a microwave oven appropriately sized for a dorm, the cost of a college education has taken on a completely different perspective these days.

"Are you buying carpet for his room?" my neighbor whose daughter is attending the same university asked.

"I didn't think of that," I admitted. "Did you get her a coffee maker?"

"I didn't think of that," she admitted.

For a computer, we purchased a laptop with speakers, a subwoofer, and a CD/DVD burner. A laptop was the computer of choice since the campus was designed with ports everywhere, even next to park benches.

We, along with hundreds of other parents, helped our kid get his things up to his mini dorm room in one of many buildings filled with excitedly nervous freshmen and their suddenly choked-up parents.

"You made his bed?" my neighbor asked.

"Yes," I answered.

"I forgot to make her bed," she said. "I feel so bad."

"Don't feel bad. She probably didn't even notice."

"Maybe I should drive back. Would you come with me?" she asked. "I feel so guilty."

"I'm sure she's made her bed by now," I said.

We took a walk around a very 21st century campus. Our son picked up his pre-ordered books at the bookstore. These had been ordered online when he registered for classes. All he had to do was click YES and enter a credit card number. Our son treated us to super-sized sodas at the Student Center using his pre-paid food card that we paid for. Then we left.

On the ride home, my husband and I made awkward, choked-up small talk. There were uncomfortable silences as my husband continued to drive and I wiped tears from my eyes as I looked out the window.

We discussed how the school makes things so much easier than when we were in college. Our son applied to his schools of choice, viewed 3D pictures of his dorm choices and chose one, registered for classes online, ordered books online, and paid for his fees online. Last week he went to his personal account at the university's website and found his schedule in list, graph, and map formats.

He can access anything he needs from this site including his bill, a calendar of events and deadlines, degree requirements and what he needs to do to fulfill these requirements, a directory of students and professors, and his grades. He can communicate with his professors, order meals ordered to his room, access the library, and submit all papers without ever leaving his dorm room.

While driving home, my husband and I reminisced about the agony of filling out applications using typewriters, typing very slowly as to not make errors. My husband admitted filling out some of his applications in his own handwriting because he got tired of erasing. We remembered the stressful waiting period until we heard which schools accepted us. We remembered thick catalogs with all the information one would need to attend the university of our choice, including descriptions and numbers for each class.

We remembered finally arriving at school, then getting approval for and registering for classes back in the pre-computer age. We remembered that first day of classes when we didn't know where buildings were or where we were supposed to be. We also remembered our parents receiving our grades via the United States Postal Service. Back in the Stone Age, the requirements for our dorms consisted of bringing our torn jeans, a stereo with a turntable and our favorite records, a typewriter, a dictionary, and carbon paper.

The rules for dorms were even different when we went to college. We had curfews and rules about no students of the opposite sex on a floor. Our dorm had one building that was entirely for women and another building entirely for men - separated by a lobby the size of a football field and guards sitting at the entrance to each building. Books were purchased at the one bookstore on campus - and that included waiting on a line that lasted more than an hour.

No one had credit cards. We paid with cash, or for a few lucky students, a checking account set up with just the right amount of money to cover the important expenses. Everything required waiting on lines from dropping classes to adding classes to paying bills to using the phone to waiting for a meal in the cafeteria. The best part about the cafeteria was that it was coed and there was a jukebox filled with our favorite 45's. My son has his choice of many fast food establishments including McDonald's, Burger King, and Krispie Kreme Donuts - right on campus.

At the end of the corridor in our son's dorm, there were two old phone booths for payphones that were no longer there. We remembered the phone messages we each found taped to our doors from our parents when we were at college: "What's the matter? Is your finger broken?" That won't be the case with our son who will be able to be accessed via email or cell phone at any hour, assuming he remembers to charge his phone. In our son's dorm, each room is wired with phone access with call waiting for those who require a land line, cable tv access, and Ethernet capabilities which are connected to the university's huge computer system. My son has copy machines in the lobby of his dorm in case his printer/ scanner/ fax/copier fails to work or he neglects to buy ink for it.

My husband made comments when we were in our son's dorm about how, with all the electronic paraphernalia, there was no room to actually "write" on the desks. My son and his new roommate both looked at him in amazement that anyone could be so out of the loop as they continued to hook up their printers and game systems. They didn't realize that when we went to college, we actually used pens, pencils, and paper. When we went to college, we even wrote letters with those pens, pencils, and paper to our parents, and we received replies. I'm not sure if my son even has a mailbox - or even cares.

I know I'm supposed to be proud of my son's achievements which gained him acceptance into such a fine university, but instead, the shock of my son moving out on his own hit me like nothing I ever expected. In fact, I spent the last two days cleaning his bedroom, drowning out the sound of maternal sobbing with a powerful steam carpet-cleaning machine. Not that his room was that dirty, although there were Dr. Pepper stains on his carpet and other questionable marks on his walls hidden from me when he suddenly decided to rearrange his furniture a year ago. So I moved his bed back up against the windows where it used to be so my cats can look out and chase blowing leaves, flying birds, and the occasional squirrel that races from one safe spot to the next.

I also anxiously kept the computer on, hoping to see my son's screen name pop up on my buddy list. It didn't. Instead, the phone rang last night, and my husband, younger son, and I each had a short conversation from our son away from home. When my younger son got on the phone, he said, "We're renting your room to a Swedish exchange student named Inga." It was the first time I laughed in days.

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