Dumbest Thing My Mom Ever Did: Called D-Cat Gus From Breaking Bad

Dumbest Thing My Mom Ever Did: Called D-Cat Gus From Breaking Bad

It was Parent’s Weekend my freshman year. I was surrounded by students who stunk of Ozium and hangover sweats, all collectively pretending that we weren’t glad as hell that our parents had come back for us a mere month into college. All was going well. Continue reading

The Monday Catchup


In case you missed it, I edit these photos with a janky, online program called BeFunky, people. It’s probably stealing information from my computer.

Wake up! The coast is clear. The families, the parents, the younger siblings-they’re gone. With them they took clunky Peirce trays and name tags and incessant comments like,”So, are you dating anyone, because I think everyone here is cute, Mia!” They took it all, stuffed it into the trunk of the family Subaru, and left you in the dust. Time to return to life as usual. You can haul out the beer you hid and feel better about that hickey on your neck.*

Here’s what you thought about this doozy of a weekend.

I lost my mom in Walmart.

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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.

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Project Open Voices: “Parents’ Weekend”

The Thrill is proud to feature personal narratives courtesy of the Project for Open Voices. Today’s essay was authored anonymously, in October of this year. 

Flashback to freshman year, October—my friends and I are finally starting to figure out how things work here. Settling into a routine hundreds (sometimes thousands) of miles away from home is never easy, but this had been much more difficult than I would have liked to admit. But despite the stress of academia and the fluid social circles, everything is starting to make sense. Parents’ Weekend is here. We’ve all heard about it—it’s a Kenyon tradition! Parents come to Kenyon, join our little bubble for a couple days; everyone puts on their best, happy, sober faces and seeks to assure their families that the investment they made in this little school was a wise one.

My parents, of course, couldn’t make it. I’m definitely not alone in that. I had done my best to make sure they didn’t even find out that Parents Weekend was a Kenyon “thing.” But they did, and sure enough, my Father called me that day to half-heartedly let me know how sorry he is that they couldn’t make it. I’ll never forget how defeated he sounded.

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