The Continuum

Continuum |kənˈtinyoōəm|:
a continuous sequence in which adjacent elements are not perceptibly different from each other,
although the extremes are quite distinct

Ann Arbor is surreal enough, the place I left home for at 17 and the town I returned to in 2000 after lifetimes in New York and then Seattle, now Jason is entering the picture.

Our nephew, the sole male heir to the Staskowski fortune, (if there was one and we were bound by the law of patrimony), will be starting his freshman year at the University of Michigan next week. My little sister’s eldest child has somehow attained the age of identity.

We’ve watched him grow from a smiley-faced newborn, to a rapt faced video gaming toddler, then a well padded seemingly invulnerable grade school hockey fanatic. I admit I was comfortable with his role as an adolescent. I knew what part to play in those scenes. I was the traveling uncle, in town for most major events; here for doling out accolades, for gentle teasing, and stalwart support. I knew how to be fun and funny. Now Jay is in the spotlight of the “Who am I” stage of his identity development, and I don’t know my lines.

But we do what we can.

Sunday the uncles joined Jay, Steve and Karen, (the parental units), and Ali (the High School Senior sister) on a self guided exploration of the campus. There was the familiar, the Bell Tower, the Diag with the don’t tread on me ‛M‛, the kiss-the-coed Arch, the ginormou-dorms. But mostly there was change. The buildings tend to have different names, so we were little help in finding class rooms, but luckily the parents had brought maps and schedules so we were able to complete the tour.

North Campus, where our budding engineer will be based, is a fantasy of new construction with only the Architecture & Design school, the Music school and Bursley dorm looking at all familiar. I had the strange sensation of coming home to a place where the new owners had changed everything. I knew where I was, but I didn’t know it at all.

We all wanted to see Jason’s dorm so we snuck into Bursley, (if a loud group of four adults and two teenagers can actually sneak). We walked the hallways and entered the rooms. The place was empty and eerily still, that strange quiet a building that will soon be a symphony of chaos radiates. The old ones were just as silent, the future was looking right at us and we knew it. I wondered if Jason was feeling anything close to what I was. I didn’t ask, I wish I had.

I do remember the feeling of my new dorm on move-in day. It was a little scary, like a roller coaster ride before it starts to move. I was about to meet my roommate, from faraway Brooklyn, a complete stranger. I was about to leave behind everything I knew for a world I only knew from orientation. I was young, but I felt very grown up. I was excited about what was to come, but I didn’t know if I was ready. I also remember the feeling I had on move-out day, 8 months later. It was as if years had passed. The people I met, the world I had seen, the lessons I learned, it couldn’t have all taken place in that small amount of time.

I want to tell my nephew that college was harder than I expected but easier too. There’s a lot of hard work and there’s a lot of easy joy. I want to guide him and prod him, to ease the way and tell him to have fun. But that’s not my role any more, he’s about to learn all of that for himself.

I can let him know that years later, I still see the friends I made that year. Even now I remember some of the lessons. I am very grown up, but I feel young. I don’t know if I’m ready, but I am still excited about what’s to come.

I think I remember what was going through my mind when I first walked onto campus as a freshman. But now, I know what must have been going through my parents’ minds. I can tell you which is more unnerving.

-- - David