We took the youngest to college last week. It was an experience. Fortunately, I didn’t have to do too much of the climbing up and down stairs. I’m a GREAT door-holder. We left the boy heading to marching band practice and returned home. The house isn’t really any quieter during the day, when I’m there by myself. But it feels quieter.
Classes started Monday. And Monday afternoon, when I checked my e-mail, I discovered that the boy has WAY too much time on his hands. He wrote us a poem. At midnight.
The Night Before Classes
Twas the night before classes,
And all through the dorms,
Not a student was stirring,
No parties, no porn.
The books were all bought,
And the kids were all ready.
Not one dreamed of sleep,
But all dreaded study.
The money ran thick
In the deep freshman pockets,
The wise parents knew
That this would not stick.
Scrounge the students would
For every nickel and dime
And find the deals that only kids could.
The girls staked their claim,
On the unwary young men.
The boys ran for cover
From these apt, prowling dames.
Horomones ran free,
And the competition: Fierce;
Those who weren't there
Must have had to pee.
So the students relished
Their last night of freedom
The classes would start,
The work would begin,
That which was, is never again.
- Rob Shelton, Penland 305