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E-mail StoryHerb Benham: Where do they seal college envelopes, Fort Knox?
| Thursday, Mar 20 2008 11:10 AM
Last Updated: Thursday, Mar 20 2008 4:26 PM
The envelope was unmistakable. It might as well have glowed amidst the monthly statement from Wells Fargo, the loan reminder from the credit union and the latest copy of the Northwest Voice.
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Yes, glowed. It was a letter to Thomas from Claremont McKenna College. I snatched it out of the pile.
For some high school seniors, March and April are the months. Do or die. Go or not go. Elation or disappointment.
For parents, it’s more like health or heart attack.
What I mean is that March and April are the months when college-bound seniors find out whether they are truly college-bound, and if so, where. These are the months to gnaw on your nails, wait for the sound of the mail being stuffed into the mailbox and then sprint to the mailbox.
Should I open it? Could I open it? What was the protocol about opening college acceptance letters that were addressed to your children?
Weren’t we sort of in this together? I’ve made you breakfast. I’ve been proud of your report card.
True, high school physics was a little beyond my skill set. I wasn’t a whole lot of help in chemistry either. And world history, you didn’t even bother to ask.
I cared, though. I was proud. I was impressed that you actually took the courses. Maybe, I could open the letter carefully. I could open it without tearing the envelope, I could read it and then glue it back together and you’d never know. No one would get hurt and I’d find out whether you’d gotten into college or not.
What was I thinking? I’d probably be violating some interstate law or something if I opened that letter. I could lose my driver’s license and I’d have to take the bus everywhere.
There was no law against holding it up to the light. I could read the “Dear Thomas” part, I just couldn’t read the paragraphs underneath it because they were facing the other side of the envelope which appeared to made from thicker, you can’t-read-through-this kind of paper.
I needed more light. I removed the Maglite flashlight from the sideboard. This was the kind of light that cops used to exact confessions out of uncooperative suspects. The Maglite could light up an alley, illuminate a bat flying at 100 feet, in fact it could do everything but lay bare the inside of a college envelope.
I put down the letter and waited for Thomas to come home from school. That was a long 1 1/2 hours. Where was he?
The door opened and slammed. He walked upstairs. I asked him how school was.
“You have some mail,” I said, trying to sound as disinterested as I could manage.
He went downstairs to open it. I didn’t hear a sound so I went downstairs to see what had happened.
The letter was open on the counter. I picked it up. It talked about how Thomas could retrieve the decision online and when, in the future, that decision would probably be rendered.
It wasn’t an acceptance but it wasn’t a rejection either. We were still alive. Barely, but perceptibly.
Herb Benham’s column appears Tuesdays, Fridays and Sundays. Call him at 395-7279 or e-mail him at hbenham@bakersfield.com.