Off to College

How is it that children suddenly know things? One minute they're adrift in infancy. Then they 
acquire a private expertise, a growing awareness of their inner lives and the shifting labyrinth 
of their family and school. Then, abruptly, they know things about the wider world around them ¡ª 
know them passionately, surprised that everyone doesn't know them, especially their parents. 
After that, there's only one thing to do: send the children off to college.

That's what a good part of America is doing in the next couple of weeks. All across the country, 
poignantly overstuffed vehicles will be heading down the highway to campuses that will soon be 
turning autumnal. It is a delicate experience. Everyone in the car is suddenly aware of the 
relationship among them, something too deeply familiar to have noticed before this journey. Words 
sound strange on the tongue, gestures clumsy. When the goodbyes are over, there will be a feeling 
of relief (and guilt for feeling that way). Then that, too, will be swept away.

For the next couple of weeks, a lot of Americans will be thinking about time, saying things like, 
"I can't believe you're going off to college." The time-thinkers will be the parents and 
relatives, not the kids, who can believe it and have in fact been ready for it for a good while.

It will come as a surprise to them when they realize the separateness of their old life. 
Suddenly, they'll see that one of the things they know ¡ª really know ¡ª is how childhood felt, 
how it felt to be anchored in that family, in that house, on that block. It won't seem important 
at first, that knowledge. But it will be there, waiting until they need it.