Hard to muster up much sympathy for the college man

Our oldest son is now well into his fourth semester at college.

It's had an impact on our lives to be sure. For us, there was the adaptation to his absence. We had to learn to fix our own VCRs, program our own remotes, and since no one was around to run the weed whip, we've had to learn to live in a jungle.

There have been fewer socks in the living room, fewer electronics strewn about, and no one was considerate enough to leave the makings for a sub sandwich on the counter just in case, and I quote, "someone else wanted one."

Although Vernon has had to cook his own meals and tidy his own whities, word on campus has it that he's adapted well. He flosses when he wants, comes and goes as he pleases and relishes in the fact that he can spend all day watching TV and perhaps all seven seasons of "Seinfeld" in one sitting.

For the previous three semesters, Vernon seemed to be having a little too many luxuries for his father and me. A kid who lives near a golf course and has access to a tanning bed isn't exactly what we had in mind when we were pinching our pennies and investing them in college savings.

When one visualizes the college years, one is prone to reminisce on the days of packaged noodles and canned meat. Certainly not a son who calls and brags about what he's doing with sushi. Between working and studying, I anticipated a college era that left little time for a social life. Yet our young Casanova has the audacity to phone and ask if we could ship his tennis racket.

Worse yet, he shows up now and then sporting a tan and looking as if he'd just stepped out of a spa. He's changed his fashion from sweats to khakis, from T-shirts to polos, and I'll be dogged if he hasn't developed a fancy for argyle socks.

Just as we were beginning to wonder what kind of kid turns the college years into a four-year stint at Club Med, the call came. It wasn't the sort of call that a mother cherishes or that a father is happy to hear, but it certainly was a step toward putting things right.

He phoned on a Sunday night and much to our surprise, he sounded distraught.

We promptly put him on speaker phone and the whole family gathered around.

"I had a really tough week," Vernon proclaimed, and I couldn't help wondering if that was exhaustion I heard in his voice.

"Oh no!" his father exclaimed as he poured himself a cup of coffee and settled into the kitchen chair. I sat at the table next to him and crossed my legs as I began to shake a bottle of nail polish.

"What's the matter, Vernon?" Little Charlie asked with faux concern. He was pouring chocolate straight from the bottle into his mouth as the dog looked on.

Huey was spinning a basketball on his finger, while studying his reflection in the mirror as our Lawrence licked his index finger and prepared to give him a "wet willie."

If Vernon had picked up on the fact that we were pleased that he was finally enduring a rough patch, he didn't let on.

"I had term papers due," he said with sadness, "huge exams in class after class. The schedule was rigorous, the studies horrendous, and if I ever thought I'd have another week like that, I don't think that I could make it through." He really caught our attention when he heaved a deep sigh and added with a hoarse voice, "And that's not the worst part."

I know my column is meant for humor and I hope that it isn't too hard for you to read what I'm about to declare. But I am writing today so that you too can sense the pain that I felt as a mother when my Vernon said his next line. Go ahead, grab yourselves a Kleenex, lean on a loved one and prepare for a good cry.

As my husband and I listened with anticipation, Huey stopped spinning his ball, and although Charlie hadn't stopped with his self-made chocolate fountain, Lawrence ceased the "wet willie" mid-air and even the dog looked concerned.

"What is it, Vernon?" I finally asked.

"This past week was so rough," he continued, and I'm quite certain that he was choking back a sob, "that I didn't even get a nap in."

Pass me a hankie.

Lori Clinch is the mother of four sons and the author of the book "Are We There Yet?" You can reach her at www.lori clinch.com.