The birth of a child reveals an entirely new world.
On August 21 of last year, I was down in Richmond, Virginia, for the baptism of my niece—my sister’s kid—the first of a new generation in my immediate family. My wife and I were to be the godparents of the little girl, and while I had flown down to Richmond thinking about all of the Michael Corleone quotes and Godfather references I would contribute to the weekend, I found that once I was there, in the presence of this new member of the family, I was at a loss for words (a rare occurrence). My sister—my younger sister, by five years—was a mother, and here was this young child, only a few months old, with her entire life waiting for her. For me, the change was profound; my niece embodied an entirely new way of thinking about the future.
Exactly one year later—August 21, 2006—I was in the delivery room at Middlebury’s Porter Hospital by my wife’s side (feeling utterly helpless) as my son, John, was born. The second of a new generation had arrived, and it was several days before I connected the two dates: John’s birth day and that day one year ago when I first started to reflect on the amount of change inherent in a child’s birth. Now, it seems that everywhere I turn, it’s right there staring me in the face.
It’s in this issue’s cover story—how a parent and child communicate as the child decamps for college. It’s in John Pulley’s fascinating feature story on the economics of higher education—will I be able to afford college tuition in 18 years? It’s the subject of Jay Heinrichs’s charming personal essay, in which Jay relates the adventure of taking an unusual route to Middlebury with his son, George, a member of the Class of 2010—and comparing it not only to his arrival at the College as a first year nearly 30 years ago, but to his mother’s as well.
The subject is also present, in another dimension, in our back page essay, where Greg MacKay ’81 relates the experience of offering hope to those who have very little—by opening one’s home to foster children.
As I write all this, I must admit that I was warned not to do so. A few months back, I was at an editors’ conference in Nashville and was talking with a colleague about the then pending birth, and she said, “Oh, this is so much fun, but don’t be one of those editors who all of a sudden sees their personal circumstances in every story. And whatever you do, don’t write about it.”
Oops. Guilty, I guess.
But I don’t think I’m alone on this one. Change affects us all, whether you are an 18-year-old heading off to college, a parent dropping him or her off, or a graduate who remembers what it was like to be on one end and who wonders what it will be like on the other. But sometimes it takes an event—a graduation, a homecoming, the first day of school, or, in some cases, a birth—not only to recognize that change but to see it as a catalyst for a whole new way of viewing the world.
— Matt Jennings