When my son moved out of state for college four years ago, my wife and I were excited about his plans, although we sometimes wished he’d be closer to home. In 2020, life challenged us, as it often does, by giving us what we’d asked for.
As a pandemic closed campuses across the country, our son came home to study remotely. Our college student was back under our roof, though through circumstances we couldn’t have imagined. Amid the suffering of a global health crisis, we felt lucky to be healthy and employed. We were also grateful that online learning gave our son a way to continue his education.
Even so, it was hard to witness the losses imposed on my son and thousands of other college students as COVID-19 spread across the planet. Digital technology was a vital lifeline as classrooms emptied, but it couldn’t fully replace hands-on learning experiences.
Social distancing forced the closure of the lab where our son, a computer engineering student, was heading a team to program a self-driving vehicle. He worked hard to keep the project moving through online collaborations with team members now scattered across the country. But lack of access to the vehicle itself was an obvious obstacle.
As a volunteer lecturer for a few Zoom classes at LSU during the pandemic, I connected with other college students navigating their own challenges. When each lesson concluded, I’d ask students to share how they were faring as remote learners. None of them expressed self-pity about the hand they’d been dealt. They seemed resilient, resourceful and resolved to push ahead in spite of a public health emergency that had overturned higher education.
I’m aware of the widespread assumption that today’s 20-somethings are fragile and self-absorbed. For centuries, older people have lamented new generations as too soft for the trials of life. But the students I encountered during the pandemic revealed a different reality. Their quiet courage inspired me. It still does.
Last month, my son and many other students who’d pursued degrees in the shadow of a plague became college graduates. When we visited campus for the commencement ceremony, my son asked my wife and me to stop by his lab before our lunch date. Then we were invited to join him in his team’s self-driving car, which took us to the restaurant as our son sat in the driver’s seat with his hands on his lap. All the hard work, slowed but not stopped by a deadly virus, had paid off.
“Thank you,” I said after we’d finished our meal. “This is one of the best days of my life.”
Self-driving cars are a wonder, but this year’s commencement season was an occasion to celebrate the abiding miracle of self-driving children. It’s a parent’s conceit to think that you’re steering them — until the day you see them in cap and gown and realize they’re steering themselves.
Email Danny Heitman at danny@dannyheitman.com.
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