Broaching the Subject of Longevity

National Geographic's November cover story is "The Secrets of Living Longer." There's another semi-current magazine still kicking around my house with the same basic cover story. Harvard Magazine calls theirs, "Is Aging Necessary?" I'm tempted to answer, "Apparently not, provided you went to Harvard."

Sweat

Rush daughter to piano lesson after 3 on-way errands, of which only one entirely successful. Zoom off, two more errands take up 10 of 30-minute lesson. How to fill time?--- since have unwisely omitted to bring laptop, reading material, sewing basket, bills to pay, etc. Consider stopping at local library for mindless "new release." Remember music school waiting room has magazines. Debate between Oprah and People ("Jen and Brad: Why They Split"). See little book face-down on shelf. Turn book over. Begin reading, for the first time, Don't Sweat the Small Stuff...and it's all small stuff. Steal book (return next week, promise!). Home: husband informs already own copy.

Coffee Klatsch

Yesterday morning in what felt like a throwback to the Sixties, four Saunderstown moms of fourth graders decided to have coffee together. "Brewed Awakenings" was discussed, but we ended up in my kitchen once it was revealed that two dozen homemade blueberry-banana-bran muffins had just come out of my oven. Most of the mugs were chipped, and all had blueberries painted on them, in three different china patterns. Discussion topics included our children, home renovations, underwear, and jobs---okay, so it wasn't exactly like the Sixties.
After everyone left, around 10 a.m., I found I was just as productive as on those days when we all disperse immediately upon Bus 19's driving off with our kids frantically waving and blowing us kisses.

Knight Edwards: In Memoriam

This past September a memorial service was held at Central Congregational Church in Providence for my father-in-law, Knight Edwards. Four hundred twenty-six people signed the guest book. Most of those—including the mayor, a U.S. Senator, two university presidents, and many others whose significance was probably lost on me—stood in line for up to two hours to shake our hands. Days later, attendees were still telling me what a wonderful service it was. One neighbor raved about the eulogy given by Central's pastor, Rebecca Spencer: "I told my husband when I die, I want her—even though I'm Catholic!" But another neighbor voiced a small complaint: there should have been more stories about Knight.

I acknowledged he had a point, then reminded him that Knight himself was the real storyteller; nobody else in the family has his talent or inclination for keeping a live audience captive and delivering a punchline.

Many people who shook our hands in the receiving line, or wrote us condolence notes, told stories, of course: Knight as a young boy indignant at having his hat swiped and thrown around the school bus; Knight and his father, William H. Edwards, greeting each other with a hug each morning as they started their work day at Edwards & Angell; Knight accompanying a young relative to a school father-son weekend when the boy's own father was ill with polio; Knight walking out of a Department of State Library Services meeting in disgust when he disapproved of a policy decision.

But as I ponder the absence of this man I loved, I wonder if his essence can be captured as well—or better—by the stories he himself used to tell, rather than by the stories we now tell each other about him. Like the one about the old Yankee sailor he met who abandoned his outing on a very foggy day: "Couldn't see my first mahk." "What was your first mark?" asked Knight. "Bow of my boat." Or the joke about the man who stood up at a dinner party and gave a toast to his lovely wife, "who's given me thirty-six of the best years of my life." "Thirty-eight, dear!" the wife called out, to which the husband replied, "Thirty-six out of thirty eight isn't bad."

"Don't stop me if you've heard this one," he'd say; "it bears repeating."

An effective speaker also knows when to shut up. Once in the Eighties when Edwards & Angell sponsored an outing for all their staff—a free concert, I think it was—Knight confided in me that so many people thanked him on the way out, he'd given up trying to explain that despite his name, he was not really responsible, not the "owner," just one partner in a firm established decades earlier by his great uncle. "Now I just say, ‘You're welcome,'" he told me.

Good storyteller that he was, he knew how to draw stories out of other people, too. No one acquainted with him escaped hearing about his World War II experiences, when, according to him, the U.S. Navy misinterpreted all the "ENG" (for English) courses on his Brown transcript as Engineering and made him a gunnery officer on a battleship. There was many a dinner table rendition of the Battle of Leyte Gulf, complete with artillery sound effects (probable source of his advancing deafness in later years); and my favorite wartime story involved a superior officer taking Knight aside and admonishing him, as an engaged man, to stay away from the gambling table. But the night my future in-laws met my parents for the first time, Knight somehow got my father, a man of few words, to tell a long story I'd never heard, about his own wartime reunion with family members in the Old Country whom he'd never met before. My father got choked up near the end of his telling, and none of his listeners' eyes were quite dry.

There were stories Knight couldn't tell without crying, either, like the time he was summoned to Ravello to rescue his stepmother and father, who'd just suffered a heart attack; Knight would break up when recounting how the innkeeper, a large Italian woman, enclosed him in a bear hug with a hearty assurance in broken English: "He is going to be all right!"

Despite his strong personality and ability to dominate a room, there was a big component of humility in Knight Edwards. When my father explained, that same night of their first meeting, that he'd gone to college on the G.I. Bill, Knight allowed as how he'd gone to law school on the G.I. Bill—making it sound as if he wouldn't have been able to go otherwise. And Knight always depicted himself as a young lawyer having to apply for a job at Edwards & Angell just like everyone else. (At some point he was eligible to convert his "LL.B." degree from Harvard Law School into the more impressive-sounding "J.D.," but he thought it silly to bother.)

I never knew Knight's father, William H. Edwards (known as "Bill"), but I see the same unpretentiousness in a photocopy we have of a letter he wrote to his infant namesake, my husband's older brother, in 1954. After devoting many words to the baby's illustrious maternal ancestors, he says, "Your forebears on that side are, I am sure, much more distinguished than those on your father's side. Not that your father's ancestors weren't good people. But they were mostly farmers without fame." The letter also states, "I think myself that preoccupation with one's ancestors means too much looking backward; but there is interest, if the interest is kept in the right proportions, in knowing the facts, and there is also inspiration (and sometimes warning) to be derived from studies of this sort." The accompanying handwritten genealogy chart, covering eight generations, details not just Edwardses but also Potters; Palmers; Gurneys; Shaws; people of Dutch extraction with names preceded by "Van"; some eighteenth century Fondas whose descendants supposedly include the famous actors; and others too numerous to list here. The earliest known Providence residents on the chart were born before the American Revolution. One couple is noted to have lived at the corner of John and Thayer Streets around the beginning of the 1800's.

When I peruse this chart and think of all the lives represented on it, indicated only by names like "Mehitabel Albro" and "Elisha Palmer"—plus a few dates and footnotes Bill made to the chart, containing such information as "buried at Swan Point," or "Storekeeper, South Berwick, Maine"—I wonder if any of these people, besides Knight and his father Bill, could laugh heartily at their own expense, recite long passages of Shakespeare from memory, and cry unabashedly at weddings. I wonder what stories people told about them, and how long the stories got passed around before they—the stories—died out. (Of the parents of the Edwards & Angell co-founder, Bill writes, "John Edwards. A farmer. It is said he could neither read nor write, but his wife Ann Van Schaik (pronounced Van SKOIK) kept his accounts, read to him, brought him up to the mark.")

When Knight's grandfather, Seeber Edwards (brother of the law firm's co-founder), died in 1914 at the age of 45, his family published a memorial volume about him. I remember coming across a copy of it years ago. It told all about the schools he went to and the jobs he held and the work he did for his community. Just as at Knight's funeral, it was all about him, and yet the man himself was missing.

The part of Rebecca Spencer's eulogy that sticks most in my mind is about Knight gripping her arm to tell her something important. What he actually said to her is lost on me—I can't remember that part of the story Rebecca told—but her description of him leaning close to her and holding on to the crook of her arm, such a typical gesture to anyone who knew him, brought him to life.

This was supposed to be a piece about Knight Edwards and his Providence heritage. And it is, but more than that, it has turned into a piece about life and death, about memory and storytelling; about how to tell a story, "how to save a life," as the writer Tim O'Brien has said.

Way on the opposite end of my children's family tree is my ninety-three-year-old Great-Aunt Jo. She's the last surviving member of her generation, from a family of six children, including my grandfather, whose parents emigrated from Naples around the turn of the twentieth century. The last time I saw Aunt Jo, prompted in part by the recent death of her ninety-five-year-old sister, I pestered her for stories of their childhood. Their schooling had largely ended by eighth grade, and they were never much given to writing things down, or having things written about them—there's no hand-annotated genealogy on this side of the family, no long discursive letter upon the birth of a namesake, no front-page newspaper article reporting someone's retirement from a distinguished career, as in the case of William H. Edwards. But I had my laptop with me that day, and as Aunt Jo talked, I typed as fast as I could: about how they washed sheets in a stovetop cauldron, and all six children used the same bathwater, and their mother (who later died of a cerebral hemorrhage while frying veal cutlets for dinner) sent them running down to the street with a loaf of still-warm bread to give to the soldiers returning from World War I … Aunt Jo is throwing a party at her house in New Jersey next month. I'm tempted to bring my laptop again—but on second thought, I think I won't. I think that, this time, I'll just sit there and be with her.

One Saunderstown neighbor told my husband and me that a few decades ago, his own father had been impressed, maybe even a little envious, at the boat Knight owned then, a Sabre 28 named Chibouk (that's another story). It became a sort of inside joke within their family: every time they gazed off the porch of their summer cottage at a pretty little sloop sailing down the Bay, they'd say to one another, "Look, there goes Knight Edwards!"

Knight Edwards died on August 21st, 2005. On September 9th, in accordance with his wishes, his ashes were scattered over Narragansett Bay, south of the Jamestown Bridge, on an outgoing tide.

[This article appears in the November 2005 issue of East Side Monthly.]

School Report: HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY

The close of Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, the penultimate book in J.K. Rowling's series, leaves in question the future of Harry's school. Will parents be willing to send their children to a boarding school that, despite every precaution, was recently attacked by Death Eaters? While the invaders gained access only with the help of an insider (now removed), how many parents will still believe the school's line about protective enchantments making it the safest place in these troubled times, with so many getting won over to the Dark Side, and terrorists lurking everywhere? Even with sufficient enrollment, how will Hogwarts solve its current leadership crisis? And who will teach Defense Against the Dark Arts, a vital discipline that's been unable to retain an instructor for more than a year?

With these issues all up in the air, now seems like a good time to assess Hogwarts: what it has stood for, its success rate so far, and its chances of survival.

Mission and Philosophy

Many people from the Pope on down have expressed opinions about the advisability of encouraging children to immerse themselves in tales of witchcraft and magic. At Hogwarts, rooms clean themselves à la Mary Poppins; bruises heal instantly, doors open at the touch of a wand. It may indeed be wrong to give youngsters the impression that problems can disappear so easily. But the really big problems in the Harry Potter books persist with real-life tenacity and complexity. Hatred festers for generations. Characters seem bent on not only hurting one another personally but effecting widespread destruction. (Sound familiar?)

Anyone who has actually read the books (as opposed to propaganda about them) will know that the message taught at Hogwarts has consistently been one of moral rectitude. Magic, like earthly powers, can be used for either good or evil, and the Hogwarts administration has come down firmly on the side of good. The latest book contains a flashback in which the series' villain, the still young Voldemort—(let's face it, only the uncool and/or cowardly refer to him as "He Who Must Not Be Named")—tells Headmaster Albus Dumbledore he's found no evidence out in the world of what Dumbledore has tried to teach him: that "love is more powerful than my kind of magic." But Dumbledore has a new protégé now—Harry Potter, whom he reminds, "You have a power that Voldemort has never had.' 'I know!' said Harry impatiently. 'I can love!'"

Now, this is not new ground for children's literature, not even sci-fi/fantasy. In A Wrinkle in Time, Meg, to save her little brother, has to figure out the only power she possesses that the evil aliens don't; of course it's love. But Rowling's protagonist is more of a modern cynic than anyone Madeleine L'Engle dreamed up: the text of the above scene continues, "It was only with difficulty that [Harry] stopped himself adding, 'Big deal!'" A very believable reaction, given Harry's frustration with the ever-losing battle against Voldemort—and one today's teenagers can certainly relate to, which may be one reason for the series' popularity among youth despite its ultimately goody-two-shoes message.

Harder to account for are the objections of adults. Reportedly some feel disturbed by the way Rowling blurs the distinction between good and evil—Harry's inward grumbling is a case in point. More dangerously, in researching the past Harry often finds himself drawn to a morally ambiguous character. What better way to teach children and teenagers about good and evil than to show them the gray areas? Real evil is often hard to spot—outwardly appealing, even seductive, masquerading as goodness (self-righteousness) or innocence (deliberate blindness).

And so it's true: Hogwarts students are not necessarily learning to obey authority unquestioningly. Sixteen year old Harry stands up to the Minister of Magic, the head of the witch/wizard government, saying, "You're making Stan a scapegoat, just like you want to make me a mascot," when he refuses to become the Ministry's poster boy. What could be more admirable—or more appealing to an adolescent? And how can any thoughtful parent object? The Minister is more of a politician than a true leader, more concerned with his own image than with serving his constituents or Doing Good. Harry has learned to see through this hypocrisy. How threatening is that?

Curriculum

Hands-on learning is key at Hogwarts. Boring lectures are rare, and nearly every lesson ends with a practicum: students must cast their own spells, mix their own potions, "Apparate" themselves to the other side of the room, etc. And lest you question the rigor of a steady diet of Divination, Charms, Herbology, Occlumency, and Transfiguration, let me point out how impressed I am, as a 17-year veteran English teacher, by the sophistication and wit of J.K. Rowling's writing style. Youngsters are certainly improving their reading skills, not to mention their vocabularies, if they can get through several books of several hundred pages each containing grammatically correct, syntactically complex sentences such as this: "Had Lucius known he held a portion of his master's soul in his hands, he would undoubtedly have treated it with more reverence—but instead he went ahead and carried out the old plan for his own ends: By planting the diary upon Arthur Weasley's daughter, he hoped to discredit Arthur and get rid of a highly incriminating magical object in one stroke." Compare Harry Potter to Judy Moody or Junie B. Jones, and you'll see at once why he's superior. Regular exposure to witty wordplay, in the form of fictional names like "Narcissa" and "Sanguini" (a vampire character), can only improve your child's S.A.T. scores.

Aspiring witches and wizards receive rigorous preparation for their own standardized tests, which bear initials like "O.W.L." and "N.E.W.T."

Parents concerned about their children getting enough writing will be happy to hear that Hogwarts students are assigned a great many essays, and that modern technology such as the self-correcting quill pen does not relieve them of the responsibility to check their own spelling.

Sports

The athletics program at Hogwarts appears to be limited to Quidditch—but what a spectacular sport it is! Opportunities abound for the same kinds of rivalry, injury, and celebrity that we know in more traditional sports—plus the playing field is three-dimensional! Students untalented at Quidditch, such as Harry's friend Hermione Granger, are encouraged to settle for excelling in academics.

Administration and Faculty

Hogwarts is divided into four Houses: Gryffindor (Harry's house), Slytherin (home of the morally questionable, as the name implies), Hufflepuff, and Ravenclaw, which compete for the annual Cup using a point system. Each house has its own Head. During the current leadership crisis, some of the Head jobs seem to be up for grabs.

As boarding schools go, Hogwarts does not provide quite as much supervision as might be hoped for. This is probably because, as a fictional character, Harry Potter joins a long line of adolescent protagonists, from Cinderella to Dorothy Gale to Aladdin, whose parents—after having apparently given them a strong foundation of love (thus making them lifelong Good Guys)—are now absent (usually dead); whose treatment at the hands of their stepparents ranges from benign neglect to outright abuse; and who are lucky enough to have gained one or more mentors (preferably possessing magical powers) who advise and protect them but provide none of the breathing-down-your-neck that a real parent does. Just like their real-life counterparts, Hogwarts teachers and administrators range from sinister and vindictive to utterly incompetent to wise and admirable--but always slightly remote and distracted, so that the adolescents can both get away with a lot and get into a lot of trouble. But at Hogwarts—as at many real-life boarding schools— relationships among peers are paramount. Students develop lifelong friendships and loyalties. An important part of Harry's moral development involves learning to stick up for nerds and to value the school's social outcasts.

While members of the faculty appear highly qualified within their fields, some betray questionable ethics, and they don't always treat their students fairly—though this may be because we're usually getting the story from the students' point of view. Most notably there's Harry's nemesis, the oily-haired Severus Snape, on whom a Muggle student of mine developed a wicked crush, which she wrote about to wonderful effect in her highly successful college admissions essay. A new character in the latest book, Professor Slughorn, is a toady who practices blatant favoritism, cultivating only students with high connections or special powers. Professor Trelawney has an obvious drinking problem, but it's only sherry bottles that Harry catches her hiding. Which brings us to ...

Rules of Comportment

I must admit, I was a bit uncomfortable at the number of times Harry and his friends sat down for a drink (usually butterbeer or mead) with their teachers. Judging from the way these beverages loosen tongues and promote conviviality, they contain alcohol—so what goes on in those British boarding schools, anyway?! With all the books' romances, now that Harry and his friends are teenagers (crushes, breakups, frustrations, love-hate relationships), there's "an awful lot of snogging," as one friend of mine put it. You might also be put off by a bit of bathroom humor; and the text indicates rather often that somebody "swore," although the actual swear words are not printed.

Rest assured, however, that transgressions at Hogwarts are noted and punished. Harry gets detention for talking back to Snape. Recalcitrant students lose points for their Houses. Assigned prefects among the students, such as Ron Weasley and the aforementioned Hermione, serve to police the younger students.

Admissions and Fees

Hogwarts does not take unsolicited applications. Qualified students are sought out and invited to attend. Diversity is highly valued; Hogwarts accepts students for their magical aptitude and does not discriminate against Muggles (regular human beings) or on any other basis of race, let alone creed, color, or sexual persuasion. Tuition, room and board are set at vague but apparently reasonable rates, which never seem to be a problem even for orphans like Harry.

Directions on getting to Hogwarts

Due to recent security measures, Apparating to Hogwarts is temporarily banned. Students who have been accepted may travel by train from King's Cross Station, platform 9 1/2 (to which access is gained by pushing purposefully at the barrier between platforms 9 and 10).

Supplies:

Students are encouraged to purchase all books and supplies, including wands and capes, at Diagon Alley prior to the start of the term.

How to contact Hogwarts:

Currently all correspondence should be addressed to:

Professor Minerva McGonagall

Acting Head of School

Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry

Hogsmeade, England

and preferably sent by owl post. Large donations from philanthropic organizations are most welcome, especially during the current crisis. The future of Hogwarts hangs in the balance.

[This article appears in the November 2005 issue of East Side Monthly.]

BOOK: "Who is Charlotte Simmons?"

I propose a selection for a parent-child Book Club, popular in elementary schools, providing intergenerational bonding over literature. Except this one would be at the college level.

I’m talking about Tom Wolfe’s I Am Charlotte Simmons, in which the protagonist goes off on a scholarship to an elite university—the fictional “Dupont,” where she expects to find peers who are not only intellectually but also morally superior to the yahoos back home. Instead she finds rampant sex, drugs and alcohol, racial and social intolerance, eating disorders, blatant consumerism, selfish ambition coupled with academic laziness (including cheating)—you name it, “Dupont” embodies it.

Before leaving her there, Charlotte’s mother tells her if she doesn’t want to “git pushed into thangs … All you got to say is, ‘I’m Charlotte Simmons, and I don’t hold with thangs like ’at.’” But the book’s title is supremely ironic, for Charlotte has no idea who she is. Overcoming her initial horror, she quickly becomes sucked in by the scene: spends a large percent of her money on designer clothes; pursues a relationship with a BMOC despite realizing he’s a soulless predator; rejects a true potential soul-mate because he’s too geeky; completely neglects her former lifeline of academics; and arrives home for Christmas catatonically depressed.

Everyone in the novel proves similarly shallow (possible exception: the dumb jock, who struggles for depth but is too dumb). And every character—albeit brilliantly, accurately captured—is just as flat and stereotyped: frat boy, preppie date, bulimic roommate, basketball team homeboy, militant activist, self-centered nerd, oily college president, self-righteous professor, manipulative coach … It’s highly entertaining. But I couldn’t help wondering why I was slogging through all 676 pages when I couldn’t sympathize with any of the characters.

This, however, is not the question most people of my generation (40s and up) ask when they read this book. Rather, it’s “Is college really like this nowadays?” For the few I found who confronted their college-age children (“I hope this isn’t what your college experience is actually like…”), the children, not having read the book, were able to brush them off (“Yeah, Dad, you don’t want to know!”) or plead ignorance. (“Mom, what are you talking about? Who is this Charlotte Simmons?”)

Okay, I can see how anyone who attended college before the sexual revolution might be shocked by all the casual “hooking up.” And a few of the most de-humanizing phenomena Wolfe describes didn’t exist a generation ago (cell phones, co-ed bathrooms). If you were fortunate enough to attend an institution with enough real estate to give every student his or her own room, you wouldn’t have gotten “sexiled.” Still, much of the book rang true for me: drunken hazes; party suites; the club that kept a file of old papers for members to re-submit; sexual experimentation; consciousness-raising about date rape, the girl we watched pile food onto her tray, then excuse herself to vomit— Need I go on? Maybe it never happened to you. Or maybe you need a reminder.

When I described the book to current students and recent grads, it invariably struck a chord. “Sounds just like college!” quipped a senior who took my phonecall at the Brown Office of Public Relations (where I was referred after tryng the Offices of Student Life and Residential Life). She confirmed that “sexiling” was common, adding, “Freshman year is an excess. We used to be such party animals.” Invited to comment, Margaret Klawunn, Brown’s Interim Dean for Campus Life, did not respond. Students who readily corroborated Wolfe’s depiction of college life gave me permission to quote them—as long as I didn’t use their names. I was told, “Wesleyan is quite the place for drugs,” and, “Freshman year, I was surrounded by guys who were big alcoholics”—this from a 2004 graduate of Trinity College in Hartford, where the Thomas Wolfe now listed in the student directory is allegedly the writer’s son. “I’ve never seen so many kids destroy private property in my life. They would tear down signs in the dining hall, kick over trash cans full of trash in their own dorms, pee and puke all over the place…”

“A cesspool of drugs and sex—that may be a gross understatement,” was the reaction of Cherisse Cobrand, a black scholarship student at Duke who alone was willing to be identified. Another Duke junior who sees many parallels between Duke and “Dupont” claims that Wolfe’s daughter attended Duke. After describing “insane partying and illicit fraternizing,” this student reported, “Perhaps more disconcerting to me, however, is the prevalence of political apathy.… There are many curious, aware, interested-in-the-world students at Duke, but it is masked under a pretense of unconcern.… Paradoxically, I've been able to capitalize on this.” She attributed her appointments as Teaching and Research Assistants to the fact that “there aren’t many people competing with me for the positions, the talking time in class, the special opportunities, the awards and distinctions.” Charlotte Simmons becomes demoralized by this observation instead of using it as a chance to shine.

The Yale alumni magazine printed a panel discussion among students entitled “Are You Charlotte Simmons?” Upshot: yes, all this goes on, but you don’t have to let it dominate your experience. I heard similar testimony from students at Middlebury, Tufts, and Harvard: “It’s part of the culture, but you can avoid it if you want to.” Those who were most blasé about the lack of personal control had already encountered it—often in a more extreme form— in high school.

Some colleges are successfully curtailing the worst kinds of destructive behavior. I received extensive evidence of crackdowns at Duke—largely in response to lawsuits and negative publicity. Colleges have also established networks of support services, such as ”Behavioral Health Centers” and the aforementioned Dean of Campus Life. On many campuses students can choose to live among others who share their values—same-sex housing, over-21 housing, Christian housing. The existence of these options can reassure students and parents. But those who feel most depressed and isolated are often least likely to seek support. When Charlotte drums up the courage to approach her R.A. (“Residential Advisor”), the insincere platitudes she hears only make her feel worse later. At Duke, I was told, responsibility for rules enforcement often falls to R.A.’s, who “tend to turn a blind eye.” “My R.A. was a sophomore guy—was I going to go to him?” said the grossed-out Trinity graduate.

So where does that leave you, the concerned parent?

One of my most interesting interviews was with a Harvard scholarship student who claims he’s never encountered most of what Charlotte did—except estrangement from family. “Every person I know who went home for Thanksgiving had some sort of breakdown and wanted to leave [home] immediately,” he said, admitting there’s a “distance” whenever he tries to talk to his parents—even the one with a college degree. “It kinds of feels empty when I’m trying to explain to them everything I went through. The more involved I get and the more I do, the harder it is to communicate with them.” Not understanding what a “tutorial” is, his parents can’t appreciate how much harder he has to work in one. Every time he mentions The Crimson (which he writes for), “I have to remind them it’s the newspaper.” They don’t see why he has to get off the phone at 11 p.m. to attend a Crimson meeting. Summers aren’t so bad, he says; eventually he re-adjusts to the culture of home. But for short vacations, “I’d almost prefer not to have a break.” Talking to him reminded me of the chapter in which Charlotte writes a glib letter home—annotated after almost every sentence with her private reflections on reality.

Who’s responsibile for this lack of connection? And is it inevitable, or should we resist? “Sometimes I think the parents don’t want to have an idea of what it’s like!” the Brown senior said when I mentioned my facetious Book Group plan. Repeatedly, collegians expressed this sentiment: “My mother trusts me… She doesn’t really want to know what goes on.” Becoming an adult is partly about gaining independence. Children need freedom and privacy—even if this means they’ll make mistakes. My neighbor whose daughter graduated a few years ago from Tom Wolfe’s alma mater, Washington & Lee (which Wolfe denies is the novel’s basis), told me, “You raise your child and have confidence in them… I firmly believe there are things you’re better off not knowing.” Having read the novel, along with other Wolfe books, this father conceded, “He always gets the language and the atmosphere right. The question is how much he’s exaggerating—I hope a lot.” Of his own daughter, he remembers thinking, “‘She has more sense than this; she’d never do this. She’s not so shallow, vain, and stupid.’”

I believe in trust. But I also believe in discussion. My husband arrived home from his commute one night shaken by an NPR report about binge drinking on college campuses. “If I’d only warned her before she went,” lamented a mother whose freshman daughter died of alcohol poisoning. (Guess what we talked about with our children at the dinner table that night?) One young woman told me her lowest point in college was salvaged by a conversation with her father, who’d attended the same college thirty years before. Duke junior Cherisse Cobrand credited her mother for giving her a strong sense of identity when she wrote me, “Those people who did not know who they were or what they stood for prior to college literally lose their minds once they are there.… I thank my mother all the time for never sheltering me from the world, as I find that those students who never got the chance to be strong individuals growing up become subject to all sorts of influences in college.”

Does your child know who s/he is? Enough to withstand exposure to thousands of very different identities?

If you don’t want a truthful—admittedly satirical—depiction of the current American college scene, don’t read I Am Charlotte Simmons. On the other hand, if you do read it—and can get your kid to—you may be able, when dropping said kid off at college this August, to say something more helpful than Charlotte’s mother’s “… no matter whirr you’re at in the whole wide world, you’ll always be our good, good girl.”

And come the first vacation, you might be better equipped than Mrs. Simmons to deal with that strange person upstairs who can’t get out of bed or speak in anything other than monosyllables.

[Gigi Edwards spent 17 years as a high school teacher and college counselor.]

[This article appears in the July 2005 issue of East Side Monthly.]

Why do I blog: Visit from the Netherlands!

(The following, my first "post," was actually created by a friend writing in my voice: --Gigi)

Today a friend of mine Vincent Everts www.vincente.nl visited me. He looked at my writing. Liked what he saw and wondered why i did not have a weblog yet. I did not have an answer on this question so now I have my own weblog. I have no idea yet how i am going to use this.

I might put some articles on there, or some of my thought about the novel i am writing. I might do a preview. who knows. We will see. I blog so I am!