A10
East Oregonian
REGION
Tuesday, September 28, 2021
VOICES
Going away to college
By DIANE LUND
Special to the East Oregonian
In my mind I knew it was inevitable. That
didn’t stop me from feeling panicky. My
daughter was going to college.
“Mom, hurry up, what’s taking you so
long?” said Elissa, who stood by the front
door, her suitcase in hand.
“You haven’t had any breakfast,” I replied.
“Come get a bowl of cereal.”
“Mom, I’m not hungry. Let’s go,” she said.
Tinker kept licking her face. As if he knew
she was leaving. On her 10th birthday, Elissa
had woken up to fi nd this brown fl uff y-haired
dog lying on her bed. They became constant
companions. Tinker would get so excited
when she came home from school, he’d jump
up and down begging for a treat. A neighbor
promised to take care of Tinker until I came
back.
Dousing my coff ee in the sink, I reluctantly
grabbed the car keys. Two heavy boxes, nearly
everything Elissa owned, were in the back-
seat. I took the wheel. Neither of us spoke for
the longest time. Finally, I broke the silence.
“I’m going to miss you terribly,” I said.
“Mom, you’ll be fi ne,” she replied. “You
have so many friends. Maybe you’ll meet
someone special.”
I shrugged. Those weren’t the words I
wanted to hear.
When we reached the Mount Shasta View-
point, Elissa climbed into the driver’s seat.
“Don’t take those curves too fast,” I warned
her.
She sped off . Tightening my seat belt, I
knew it was useless to say anything. Elissa
had a mind of her own, an eloquent mind like
her father.
Elissa had been the center of my life since
the day she was born. I adored her. Every time
she did something new, like learning to tie
her tennis shoes, I’d buy something special,
a book or a doll.
I was astounded to see her overalls
covered with paint after I picked her from
preschool at the Jewish Community Center.
I asked her teacher what happened. Elissa
had gotten so excited drawing me a picture,
she hadn’t noticed the smudges on her
clothes.
“She’s such a delightful child, so adventur-
ous and imaginative,” her teacher said.
Where had the time gone? Wasn’t it just
yesterday when I had gone to her swim meets,
her piano recitals? Taken her to Israel to meet
her father and shown her Jerusalem, the city
of her birth.
Now our time together was drifting away
like the sand on the beach. In a few short days,
she’d be on her own. And unfortunately, so
would I.
I had urged Elissa to choose a college
outside of Oregon. Not wanting to inhibit her
life the way my mother had. Always checking
up on me. Wanting to know where I’d been,
who my friends were. Never trusting me to
make my own decisions. Questioning me all
the time. Until I couldn’t take it any longer
and moved out.
Elissa deserved her freedom, unencum-
bered by me who wanted to control her life.
“You need to go away to college,” I said.
“Find your own identity. Figure out what you
want to do in life. I don’t want you feeling
trapped like I did.”
We had done the college circuit tour
the year before. Visiting the campuses of
Pomona, Scripps, Occidental and Santa Clara.
She chose Santa Clara. A Catholic school.
In northern California. As I pulled into the
parking lot, we looked at each other. She
looked glorious. A cold sweat ran down my
face. I helped her unload, carrying the boxes
to her dorm room.
“Don’t get too religious, I don’t want you
see you reciting a rosary,” I told her.
“Mom, you know me better than that,” she
replied.
I drove home the next morning. Expecting
to hear my daughter’s voice on my answering
machine. But there were no messages. My
heart ached.
Fumbling through my purse, I found
the crumpled piece of paper where she had
scrawled her new phone number and picked
up the receiver.
“No,” I told myself slamming it down. “I
need to let her be.”
Walking into her bedroom, I opened the
blinds. Everything was gone. Her clothes, all
her makeup, her boom box.
Then, out of the corner of my eye, I
saw her teddy bear. Lying on her bed, its
beady eyes smiling at me. I cuddled it in
my arms, crying softly. The yellow and
white fur around its nose had long ago
worn away.
The teddy bear had been a gift from my
mother along with a pink frilly dress, a polka-
dot sleeper, and diapers.
When I’d lay Elissa in her crib, I’d wind
the key so the bear could play a sooth-
ing lullaby. Soon it became her timeless
possession.
Had she left the bear to comfort me?
The phone rang. “Mom, are you OK?
I haven’t heard from you and was worried
something might have happened.”
ANYONE CAN WRITE
Nearly 40 years in the business have
taught me that readers long for meaning
and a connection at a deeper and more
universal level.
And that’s why the East Oregonian will
be running, from time to time, stories from
students who are in my writing class, which
I’ve been teaching for the past 10 years in
Portland.
I take great satisfaction in helping
so-called nonwriters fi nd and write stories
from their lives and experiences. They walk
into my room believing they don’t have
what it takes to be a writer. I remind them if
they follow their hearts, they will discover
they are storytellers.
As we all are at our core.
Some of these stories have nothing to do
with Pendleton or Umatilla County. They do,
however, have everything to do with life.
If you are interested in contacting me to
tell me your story, I’d like to hear from you.
Tom Hallman Jr., tbhbook@aol.com
Tom Hallman Jr. is a Pulitzer Prize-winning
feature writer for the Oregonian newspaper.
He’s also a writing coach and has an affi nity
for Umatilla County.
“I thought you were too busy to call,” I
said.
“Mom, you’ll always be in my life. I love
you,” she replied.
I took a deep breath. My daughter was
hundreds of miles away. Yet we still had a
special bond.
Called love.
When Elissa came home the following
summer, I was thrilled. We spent several
hours sorting through her old clothes and
books in the garage. Tucked underneath her
Sunset High School yearbook was the teddy
bear.
“Remember this?” I said, dusting it off .
“It’s yours now. A token of my love.”