Don't Take Me Seriously - Book - Page 224
Shrine on, shrine on child-less room
O
ur headline is a takeoff on the lyrics from
the early-1900s song
“Shine On, Harvest Moon,”
and is used to introduce today’s
topic, which is the parental reaction to the empty nest syndrome produced when children
go away to college.
Specifically, we are talking about whether to shrine ...
Or not to shrine — whether to
hermetically seal your collegebound kid’s room, exactly as he
left it, in the hope he will one
day come back and adore you
for your sentiment. Or to, instead, turn his room into a gym
and his possessions into cash.
An examination of this subject was inspired by an advertisement I read last week with
the header of “Kid leaving for
college sale.” Books, clothes,
furniture, sporting equipment,
posters, trophies, artwork and
even, I believe, a little ceramic slab with a tiny handprint in
it were offered for sale, and one
can only surmise that the parents were subscribing to the old
Jim
WALKER
DON’T TAKE ME SERIOUSLY
“out of sight, out of mind” philosophy.
Either that or the word “college” in the header was a euphemism used because “Kid
leaving for prison sale” didn’t
have the same jolly ring to it.
In any case, the advertiser seemed to desire to dispose
of all reminders of this child’s,
well, childhood.
Now, putting yourself in the
advertiser’s position, this might
be your thought process:
The little ne’er-do-well
scammed himself into MIT and
brags that he’ll turn out sooo
much better than you did, right?
Well, let him start ASAP.
“Bye. See ya. Don’t let the
screen door hit you in the butt.
Send a postcard now and then.
We’ll let you know where we
are.”
Or are you a shriner?
The day after your progeny drives away in the beater
car he fashioned from the nice
one you bought him a year
ago, do you lovingly wash and
fold away the rancid laundry
he left behind, then cover everything in his room with bed
sheets so it will remain dustfree until he visits at Thanksgiving, if he visits at Thanksgiving?
In fact, the only reason you
will enter his room between
now and then is to water and
feed that little starter plant he
received as a bonus gift when
he purchased his medical marijuana card.
Is that you?
Or maybe you don’t cover
everything with sheets. Instead,
you visit his room regularly
to “dust.” And while dusting,
you fondle his soccer trophies
and sob your way through
his photo albums. You caress
each spelling quiz with a gold
star on it, kiss his sixth-grade
graduation photo, and shed a
tear on the restraining order
he received for his interest in
Suzie-down-the-street.
And when you are done, you
place everything back exactly as you found it, sigh nostalgically and walk out singing
“Thank God for Kids.”
Oh, I hope not.
If everything in his bedroom isn’t in storage, sold, or
dropped off at Goodwill by the
time he sleeps through his first
class at college, you should be
ashamed of yourself — and you
deserve his inevitable moving
back in.
Nay, my friend. Anything
he didn’t take with him to the
dorm should be liquidated or
expunged. You could, politely, warn him this will happen
before he leaves, or you could
email him later about that gang
of crazed skunks that broke
into his room in search of old
Cheez-Its — so, you know, everything had to go.
The end result will be the
same. He will thank you when
he drops out of school to backpack across Europe because everything he owns will, literally,
be on his back.
What a freeing and empowering experience, right?
And meanwhile, selling his
drum set, flat-screen and Xbox
might help you get to Europe.
Beyond that, emptying and sterilizing his bedroom provides
you with a place to warehouse
your new Chia Pet business.
It’s up to you, my friend. Will
you shrine on? Or will you take
back what is rightfully yours
and empower your child and
yourself in the process?
Of course, Jim Walker
offers this advice from his
usual “Do as I say, not as I
do” philosophy ... because,
well, it’s a good thing he
didn’t sell his daughter’s old
twin bed. It fits his current
accommodations perfectly.
Comment at jwalker@thesignal.com or at http://Twitter.
com/DontSeriously.
