It's the scariest time of year. There's an ominous chill in the air and the trees are growing barer by the day. This past weekend was particularly frightening. Students could be seen crossing Pro Row with extra caution, casting wary glances at their backs lest they fall prey to the soul−sucking beings that for three days walked among us:
Parents.
These past two months it has been pretty easy to forget that those guys exist. Fellow freshmen, I urge you to dwell for a moment on how sweet it is to be released from the shackles of living−at−home−dom. Party waffles can be eaten with abandon. You can stay up way past your bedtime. The "no TV until at least some of your homework is done" rule doesn't apply here. I personally have been living something of a fantasy life since I've been here. I can walk to Spanish class without a coat and my parents can't do anything about it.
But then Parents Weekend happens. Students everywhere have to break out of their guidance−less haze and brush their hair. Beds are made, psychology textbooks replace "I Hope They Serve Beer in Hell" (2006), and your free giveaway from Oh Megan's guest lecture is stored in a safe, safe place. Because more terrifying than a herd of student living−dead stumbling and lurching down your hall asking for your brains is the presence of the people who gave you life. They basically own you.
Since we can't (politely) tell them to leave, allow me to take a few paragraphs to share with you some wisdom I picked up this past weekend on how to deal with any parental drop−ins.
First, direct them straight to the nearest dining hall. Everyone gets less authoritarian with a little food in the belly. Also, it is exceedingly difficult to nag with food in one's mouth. This is a prime time to push some really chewy meat.
While they're masticating, take the opportunity to tell them about all your academic triumphs. Watch them beam as you gloat about the check−plus you got on your Spanish homework two weeks ago. Their pride should be palpable when you show them the receipt from the MasteringBiology problem set you aced. Lay it all on them. There is no feat too small in the world of academia.
When you run out of accomplishments, it's time to take your mom to see an a capella show, preferably one featuring the Bubs. Tell her that, yes, that one really cute young man was most certainly looking at her during "Cecilia." The one caveat is that she will start asking you why you don't have a boyfriend. Remind her that with all the time you spend studying, it's hard to find a significant other. Also, as an official adult now, you are only looking for meaningful relationships. It has to really count.
Now for the hardest part: the dorm tour. Text some floormates to get a good idea of who is in the common room before you even think of bringing your parents up there. The antics of your sketchy neighbor are probably a lot funnier to you than to the people who raised you. Next — and this takes some planning ahead — you want your side of the room to be the cleaner side. Muss up your roommate's bed sheets just a tad and leave a shirtsleeve hanging out of her drawer. Loose papers all over your desk? A simple sweep of the arm will make them your roomie'sproblema.
Lastly, it's OK to show the rents a little love. If they're anything like mine, they can be aight sometimes.
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Hannah Furgang is a freshman who has not yet declared a major. She can be reached at Hannah.Furgang@tufts.edu.
