I tore my shoelace at Syracuse University when it became caught on the corner of my daughter’s dresser, which she insisted on bringing to college, while I was struggling to wedge through the narrow doorway of her dorm room. I put a small hole in the other shoe at Wisconsin University, trying to install Venetian blinds on my other daughter’s window as my foot became stuck in the cold, metal radiator. Considering my sneakers cost only $49.99, neither injury was a particularly big deal. But then I thought about what I paid for a pair of Converse sneakers 30 years ago when I was finishing college: $15. Then I thought about what I’m paying to put my two daughters through college.
Suddenly, the hole in my left shoe seemed a lot worse.
In 1969, the tuition at a local Catholic college was $50 a credit, at most. Today, it’s $500 a credit. In 1969, my parents paid $32,000 for a one-bedroom home in Secaucus. Recently, after the deaths of my parents, we sold the house for eight times as much. Even taking inflation into account, life is much more expensive today, and I was determined to make sure my daughters got every penny’s worth.
We made it to Syracuse without incident, not counting the removing-the-gas-cap-from-the-borrowed-van situation, which a friendly Ithaca local helped us to resolve. However, the self-service gas stations on Routes 17 and 81 proved to be a little disconcerting for a Garden State traveler. Except for the torn shoelace, moving my daughter Perri into her dorm room went smoothly too, thanks mainly to the volunteer pushing-and-pulling brigade of Syracuse sophomores and juniors – although most parents couldn’t stop grumbling that it was the least the school could do, considering the cost of tuition. Even the highly anticipated summit between Perri and her roommate from Rhode Island was a success, especially since both like the Dave Matthews Band, played varsity softball in high school and each has a more-than-positive outlook about the traditional snow surges of upstate.
Everything seemed to be coming together until we realized we had left the cinder blocks in our garage in Teaneck. Cinder blocks are necessary, we were warned, to raise the height of the bed, providing essential storage space underneath. It’s possible that, subconsciously, I intentionally left the cinder blocks behind after tearing my pants trying to shove Perri’s dresser into the van. So off we raced to the local Home Depot, the new national symbol of the northeast, for cinder blocks and new shoelaces. Three and a half hours later, the bed rose like the Holy Ghost as my daughter slid half of her worldly possessions (and most of our savings) underneath her bed.
I looked at my watch and knew we had to leave if we were going to catch the flight to Madison (University of Wisconsin) to move our older daughter, Brenna. I steeled myself to deliver the grand speech about planning ahead, having confidence, being safe, studying hard, making friends, but soon found myself quoting a popular newspaper column and reminding my daughter to wear plenty of sunscreen (in Syracuse?). She understood!
My wife made a teary but graceful exit and I began following her out the door. I looked at the dent I made with the dresser, turned around, and saw my daughter and her new roommate talking, giggling and wiping away the tears. We headed out to the car.
Thirty minutes to the airport, four hours to Wisconsin, a second mortgage and another trip for cinder blocks awaited. I wouldn’t have traded any of it, even for an unmarked pair of shoes and some more well-placed tears. – Dennis Sevano
Dennis Sevano used to serve as a supervisor in the Hoboken schools and is assistant superintendent of schools in Paterson and adjunct professor at St. Peter’s College.