College Daze

Me with the Phi Kappa Psi bros: Kolt and Cortez.

By Patti Parish-Kaminski, Publisher

I went back to college last weekend.  For three days.  And it nearly killed me.

There were no books, no classrooms, no professors to speak of.  So, what could I possibly have learned?  First and foremost that my people – my son, his fraternity brothers and his tribe et al – can party.  And frankly, I’m astounded at the amazing GPA’s that have consistently arrived in my inbox on his behalf given Kolton’s ability to party like a rock star and achieve like a summa cum laude boss.

So, what does college for my senior baby boy at the University of Texas look like post-COVID campus shut down?  It does look like stellar grades and amazing resume-worthy accomplishments.  That was the part I knew about.  But it also looks like copious amounts of alcohol in solo cups – lots of alcohol that I’ve never even heard of.  It also looks like very little food because mediocre food is simply a waste of calories according to baby boy.  After all, why eat something that’s not amazing when you can drink?  Honestly, I kind of get that.  There was the expected:  football, a fraternity house, an expansive bar in said house, exhausted pledges roaming around. There were ancillary bars to be visited at all hours of the night and well into the early morning hours with sticky floors and bar stools you dare not sit on.  There were garishly colored wrist bands, which were the currency of choice at said establishments with parents reliving their glory days – or at least trying to.

The weekend agenda was intense; sleep did not a merit a sufficiently allotted time slot.  That did not bode well with Mr. Kaminski, who, as you will recall, is older than I am.  After partying and visiting until the wee hours of the morning, an 11 am game had us up and at it before the noon hour, followed by mimosas – mine sans orange juice – and tailgate-type snacks.  We suffered a brutal loss on the field, then on to a full afternoon of shopping, happy hour and a late decent dinner.  Finally, real food.  Baby boy can be talked into a great steak house.  Of course, Mr. Kaminski excused himself to a two-hour nap in lieu of the shopping extravaganza.  Not your girl.  I hung in there.  I took one for the team.

By dinnertime night two and post-happy hour, I was worn pretty thin.  We had amazing wine at dinner, and apparently, due to my exhaustive condition – at least that’s what I’m telling myself – the wine made me a bit more . . . let’s go with fun . . . than usual.  I’d like to give you a play-by-play of the latter part of the evening.  Can’t quite get there.  But I do know it was Sunday morning before we got to bed.

Of course, there was brunch Sunday, more mimosas and more shopping with baby girl.  Apparently around 3 pm Sunday afternoon, I passed out in the truck.

I should be upset with my son’s frivolous yet fabulous weekend agenda, his uncanny ability to keep going like the energizer bunny on very little nutrition, sleep and while consuming God knows what in the liquor department.  I likely should have whipped him – had I had the energy.  But I must confess, I am thoroughly impressed.  Turns out he’s a lot more like his momma than I thought.  Party like it’s 1999 baby, but always take care of your business first.

See y’all next week – after I take a long, long nap – on the porch!

Patti Parish-Kaminski

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