LTE: My Parents Don’t Know How To Socialize Either
BOBDrinkingStudent Life September 26, 2024 The New England Classic
MOD LOT — There I am, holding a warm beer in my right hand, my phone in the other (My Under Armour athletic short pockets are a bit too slouchy to carry the weight of my iPhone 12). I am careful to keep my elbows in to avoid touching the people around me, but not too inward because then I’d look like a dinosaur. My armpits are really sweaty, but it’s 57 degrees out so my forearms have goosebumps. My overall body temperature is fucked. There’s yelling and chattering all around, and I have to do a waddle-like walk to get myself back under the tailgate tent every time another person joins and accidentally pushes me out.
I look over to my parents, who are here for Family Weekend, for comfort. I was really excited to have my parents come and interact with my friends. I thought they would take shots with us and relay their crazy college stories from Yale (I didn’t get in). Yet, they’re just as awkward as I am, T-Rex arms and all.
They’re standing just outside the tent awning, on the outskirts of the group. They aren’t nonchalant about being on the outside, though, they keep peering in, looking like they want in on the action. They’re mostly silent. My dad has his hands in his pockets. He’s looking out at my group of friends with a dead stare that seems exceptionally judgmental but I can tell it’s just his way of disguising his discomfort.
“What’s your favorite class right now?” my mom mousily asks my friend Dom, who is too drunk to speak about anything besides BOB.
Greg’s dad keeps offering us personalized mixed drinks and describing his sex life in weirdly explicit detail. My friends are all eating it up. I, of course, can only hear the occasional phrase, for I am positioned at the back of the group, alone. I can tell my dad’s drunk because he’s standing a little weird and bobs his head a bit, but it doesn’t make him any more social. If anything, he just feels more comfortable staring at my friends without making conversation like a creep.
“Whose dad is that?” I hear my acquaintance Sarah whisper to the group, of which I am not in.
“I don’t know,” replies Greg. “He kinda just forced his way into our tailgate.”
My mom keeps refusing to eat Greg’s dad’s food because she feels bad, but she’s actually just making it awkward as fuck. As I watch my parents, I ask myself, why must I feel ashamed of my parents’ uncanny dispositions?
So, The New England Classic, I tell this story to encourage the student body to offer their grace. Please do not bully me for my awkward demeanor at a party, for it is genetic and outside of my control. And to my fellow students with awkward parents: I see you, and I am here for you.