Dad and Buried

I loved college.

While there are always exceptions, it’s almost hard not to love college. For many kids, it’s the first taste of freedom, a hint of real life without any of the “real” part. You live on your own, you hang out with big groups of friends, you have unfettered access to the opposite sex. Sure, you have some “responsibilities,” but with a little common sense it doesn’t take much to maintain them and still have plenty of time to just have fun.

When you’re in college, you don’t yet know what you don’t know and, as a result, life is blissful. Everything’s in front of you. It’s not until you graduate and spend a few years in the real world that you realize how good you had it.

Being a parent is a different kind of education – one that kind of works in reverse, in that it’s a bit of a grind and you don’t see a lot of the payoff until much later – that’s only if your kids don’t grow up to be assholes. But a good fifteen years removed – and no, I will not be attending any reunions so don’t paw at me with your dirty little guild – I am able to see some similarities between the life of a college student and that of a toddler.

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