Parent’s Weekend Recap

look mom here is where I vomited last weekend ha ha :)

Ah, parent’s weekend. The beautiful gathering of mom, dad, and child. Any establishment in the village is packed with confused, bumbling middle-aged people. Middle Path is bustling with students and the people that created them. Class discussion suddenly becomes packed with raised hands and questions asked by people that went to college over 25 years ago. Inevitably, you’re gonna see some crazy shit from parents trying to navigate the ‘bier. We compiled a list of the most out-of-the-box stuff we saw that could only occur during Parent’s Weekend. Have a moment that didn’t make the list? Share it with us in the comments below.

  • “Grandma stopped me on middle path, apparently I looked just like her best friend when they were in college. Proceeded to get teary eyed and took a selfie with me. She kissed me on the cheek but DAMN NEAR close to my mouth. No child was in sight. As I walked away she said ‘Bless you Rebecca!'”
  • “I passed a mother in Peirce that smelled like she showered in gin and tonics”
  • “I saw another mother in Peirce that made a wrap only of chipotle mayo and tomatoes”
  • “A father sat in the bookstore, reading “Shit My Dad Says” for way too long–giggling to himself”
  • “A mother, outside the Bookstore, screamed across the street to another mother, outside the Post Office: ‘You gotta get Kenyon SWAG!!!!'”
  • “A mother asked a barista at Wiggins for a hot cup of coffee served in a drinking glass”
  • “A mother comes into bookstore, seeks out every book about democrats, sits down with a pile of books, reads first two pages of each for an hour”

10 responses

  1. That’s it?!! That’s your take down of middle-aged people with open checkbooks? “Grandma was weird, there was a chipotle-crazy-lady, and Democrat-phile book nut–it was so, SO grotesque it made my double-shot half-caf Starbucks latte spill on my Sociology of Invertebrate Undergraduates textbook.” That’s IT?!! Well, I’m a hard drinkin’ Kenyon Man of a certain age and I could heckle you little snowflakes into a corner better than that without spilling my Mickey’s Malt Liquor on the Bullseye floor or takin’ my eye off the bong I’m fixin’ to administer to you next with extreme prejudice. Your synapses were in full Samuel Clemens and all they could summon was “Gee whillikers! There were some goofy looking people on campus–oh wait, they were my PARENTS who totally LOVE me, or someone else’s parents who love my best friend–and they were dowdy and clueless! How outré! How LAME!” Well, when you’re done confirming that cell differentiation is basically a political act, or whatever gut course you’re frittering away on, take a sec from all that, take a breath, and reflect on this: everyone (especially your aging parents) loves you and is absolutely counting on you to make the most of the unbelievable GIFT of being able to go to Kenyon. They know that what you are learning will make you exceptional–or at least capable of truly razor-sharp satire, which “Parent’s Weekend Kneecap” on The Thrill was not. I’ve blown more creativity than that into my hanky. Sure, those parents you slighted are frumpy, out of date, uncool, and prone to inept and inapt comments. But they were shiny and hip and beautiful like you once, before the life they are preparing you for (and for which they have made big sacrifices) hit them sideways like a gale and blew their youth away. Don’t mock them or, if you do, do it very well or out of earshot of an old dog like me. Because I’m coming to “‘bier” as you call it (is a ragged goatee and a flattened brain-pan required to call it that?) and I am going to drink all you little puppies under the table, dress you in grubby leisure suits from Goodwill, take photos, and send them to your parents. They’ll like that. Buckle up.

    Lovingly,

    Philander Chase

  2. After a lifetime of being accosted by strangers in town saying “Aren’t you Alex’s daughter?” (he was well known in town), I was absolutely thrilled when my dad visited Gambier and someone walked up to him and said, “Are you Kristen’s dad?” YESSSSS! I had found my place, my tribe, where I could be myself, not Alex’s daughter.

    Enjoy your special time and place, and remember that your parents give you something to define yourself against.

  3. So THIS is what passes for satire at The (sad trombone) Thrill? Are you journalistic stalwarts actually attending classes at the school and dining on Swift or Addison & Steele, not to mention Borowitz, Sedaris, Silverman, Schumer and C.K. ? Are you availing yourselves of the opportunity to hew a few good memes out the rich source material at hand? We few, we happy few, we band of Cheeto Banditos deserve, merit, require and demand your best efforts, not some soggy, predictable, warmed-over, limp, dull, scattered, pea-shooting at clay pigeons. Sharpen your pens! Your parents, your parents’ peers and your predecessors want a more pointed brand of dissonant dissing and priapic pissing. This was weak tea. This was an apology note. This was “if we shadows have offended” without the Puck-it-all wink
    .
    Bring your rapiers, whet your waggish weapons of wit, have at it. The parental piñatas persevered through your peevish polemics during high school – has the easier availability of alcohol caused Brewer’s Droop to qweer your QWERTYs?

    Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars
    And say ‘These wounds I had on Parent’s Day’
    Old men forget, yet all shall be forgot
    But he’ll remember with advantages
    What feats he did that day: then shall our names,
    Familiar in his mouth as household words
    Rath the King, Friedberg and Johnson,
    Adams and Keefe, Brill and Giometti
    Be in their flowing cups freshly remember’d

  4. I just want to say, like apparently every adult in your life before has said, “Well done! Aces for trying, Debbie.” I’m so proud that you were able to identify the aroma of G&T over the effluvia of vomit and stale beer that usually surrounds undergraduates. I know you have only had half a semester (well, a fourth, counting absences) of Freshman Composition so far- but you show real promise. Someday, you may even be able to parse a humorous haiku. The essay mined comedic gold in that tomato wrap comment, and I was hardly able to contain myself picturing someone reading books in a book store, on Democrats, no less! One can hardly blame you if your attempt at satire falls short when your whole life has evidently been a high-five for participation. My avuncular advice: develop some real contempt for your elders, and express it from your enviable youthful vantage point, Because when you become old and bitter like me, contempt for adolescence comes with the territory. It’s your only advantage, really, at your age. As P. J. O’Rourke put it, “Age and guile beat youth, innocence, and a bad haircut.” You could look it up.

  5. Ah, the perspicacity of youth turned upon those whose very being has been surrendered for their benefit. What glory, what remarkable and wasted usage of all those resources poured upon the thankless font of the self-obsessed by the self-aware! As you mock, remember: it is from these loins, and at these feet that you learned to walk, to talk, to think, to explore, to wonder and to create. These sad husks of aged flesh were once young and vibrant, and in their release of those great blessings found others in which to rejoice: your tiny hands formed in the quiet dark and flexing for the first time in open air, having parted the womb by their (and not your) strength and yearning; your cries rousing them from well-earned sleep, so that by patience and love they might assuage your yearnings; your wonder at the world as everything they had grown accustomed to was rendered new and fresh in your sight and at your touch.

    You are right to dismiss them, these used up husks. They are spent. They are yesterday. They are an intrusion upon better ways to enjoy your time. What use are they? Uncool, lacking the ability to conjure fresh syntax that demonstrates the ability to discriminate, rather than to celebrate and include, they are the epitome of social clutter.

    Mark Twain remarked that when he was fourteen, he was astounded at how ignorant his old man was; how he could barely stand to “have him around.” “But when I got to be 21 I was astonished how much he had learned in 7 years.”

    Mr Clemens would peruse with sad remembrance the distortion of his satire in your comments upon your seniors. That said, I am sure he would not hesitate to remonstrate your observations with some salty comment regarding the advanced state of society when such adolescence is so celebrated!

  6. Weak, weak, weak…. Basic deductive logic and keener sense of observation would have revealed that:
    1. Grandma is still swinging.
    2. The G&T smell comes from when she threw a bottle of Hendrix’s into a bonfire down by the river along Lower Gambier road
    3. Mom was still tripping and thought that she was swaddling her babe
    4. Dad was just enjoying watching words melting on the page (no Visene in that bottle)
    5. You misheard her… she was mocking the hard packed ditch weed (schwag) you think is quality.
    6. ½ the glass was whiskey (George T. Stagg, not the weak 40 proof you buy at Kroger)
    7. You didn’t notice the shrinkage of 2 bagels, microwave egg rolls, Snapple, and a CD.

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