Covid Goes to College (Bruening)

This summer, while much of the world is hunkered down and weathering a prolonged storm, we’re buying things.

That’s not to say we’re an extravagant family, or we’re oblivious to the public health crisis that has run roughshod over the first half of the year and will undoubtedly define 2020. On the contrary. We operate on a tight budget – we always have, even in less harrowing times. But we’re spending our summer getting ready to send our daughter, the first of our two children, off to her first semester at Oberlin College at the end of August.

So this summer, we’re buying things.

Just about every day, a UPS or Amazon truck pulls up in front of the house, and the driver comes to the door with a package containing any number of random items: bath towels, a coffee maker, an area rug. Every day, Jessica is adding another item to her growing stockpile of college life accessories and making plans about how they will all fit together. Generally speaking, it’s pretty exciting for her and for all of us.

Except for those times when it’s terrifying.

Yeah, I know. Every parent feels anxiety and apprehension about sending their child off to college. Especially their first child. There’s heartache, there’s uncertainty, there’s the struggle to let go of this kid whom you could swear you just brought home from the hospital for the first time about three weeks ago.

But this summer is different. This summer, there’s more than just the typical measure of parental gut-wrench that comes with watching your kid leave the nest.

This summer, there’s Covid.

At this writing, the virus has infected some 3.5 million Americans and killed nearly 140,000. Some states (including Ohio) are showing spikes in infection rates, while others are not. Depending on who you ask – and granted, you’ll never get a consensus about any aspect of this, which has been a big part of the problem all along – we’re either still in the first wave or we’ve moved on to a second. Or we’re somewhere in between. Whatever the case, there’s no end anytime soon.

So in the midst of a pandemic that calls for dialing back on human interaction and engagement, what’s a high school graduate to do about college, a place that’s supposed to be all about human interaction and engagement?

One option is to delay. Take a year off, maybe even two, with the expectation (or at least the hope) that a forthcoming vaccine will resolve everything. Then what? At that point, Jess will be 20 or 21 years old, and probably feeling left behind and disconnected from most of her peers.

Another option is remote learning. Go to college in your PJs, in the comfort of your own bedroom via your laptop. Which is actually way too much comfort for someone who should be – and who wants to be – spreading her wings.

Both of these scenarios seem like a surrender to fear, which is not an option at all. So we move forward. And along the way, we focus on strategies to minimize the threat of infection.

Based on various webinars and other communications with administrators at the school over the past couple months, we’re confident that they’re doing the same – devising as comprehensive a plan as possible and moving forward. But we also know that the data and the trends are changing by the day. (At least we think we know that, but we can’t really be sure because the flow of Covid-related data coming out of hospitals is now bypassing the CDC, which is another conversation entirely.) The truth is, whatever strategy the school may have in place as I type these words may change in as little as a week.

None of this looks like what I had originally envisioned for Jess when she was starting kindergarten. Back then, I pictured a young woman sitting in full classrooms and lecture halls, engaging in robust discussions with classmates and professors, unmasked face to unmasked face. I pictured her on a bustling campus, meeting with friends in dormitory suites, cafeterias, coffee shops, performance centers, and other common areas and enjoying a large and diverse social circle without a thought about how any of this could compromise her safety or anyone else’s.

She’ll have some version of these things, yes, but they’ll be far from the traditional college experience. They’ll be muted, hampered to some degree, and probably even a little perilous. This thing that can’t even be seen will cast a long shadow over everything she does, every place she goes, every person she meets.

Nothing like what I envisioned at all. So in addition to the anxiety, it’s frustrating as hell.

And yet, despite all this, Jess is still excited. She’s still optimistic. She’s even more buoyant now than she was when her acceptance letter arrived early this year. She’s largely undeterred by things like mandatory monthly Covid swabs, modified class sizes and configurations, or restrictions on certain campus activities. She still looks forward to the next shipment from UPS or Amazon. She’s still eager to dive into this next chapter in her story, no matter how wonky the narrative may have become in recent months.

She’s going to college.

So I take my cue from her and put on my brave face. I share in her excitement with each new package that comes to the door. I help her assemble a few of the pieces – some tangible, others less so – of the mosaic that will be her life for the next four years, although I’m well aware that most of the building process will be up to her. I do my best to focus less on the minefield of health risks and more on the countless benefits and dividends of a college education and a college experience, however atypical the experience may be. I have no idea who she’ll be on the other side of this crucible, but I look forward to meeting her when we all get there.

In the end, despite everything, I’m incredibly proud. Because even before she embarks on this next stretch of her journey, this student is already teaching me much.

She’s teaching me about courage. She’s teaching me about hope.

John Bruening began his writing career in the mid-1980s as a journalist, and later transitioned to corporate marketing and communications. His newspaper and magazine feature writing has won two awards from The Society of Professional Journalists. He is the author of The Midnight Guardian series, a  multi-part crime/adventure saga written in the spirit of the classic pulp fiction of the 1930s and ‘40s. He lives in South Euclid, Ohio, with his wife and two teenage children.