Where It All Began

I’m a student affairs professional. I work with college-aged students every day. I grow kids up from 17/18 years old to their mid-20’s. A student affairs professional is also known as a professional crazy person. Other aliases include mother, father, counselor, therapist, mechanic, loan officer, bail bondsman, mother, police officer, photographer, cheerleader, mother, financial aid counselor, tutor, best friend, designated driver, the voice of reason, and you guessed it – a crazy person! Oh, and fire fighter – almost forgot that one.

               

It all started at UCLA. Year 2000. My father gave me three options when I told him that after my second year, I could not live on campus:

1.  You can live on campus;

2.  You could find a way to live on campus; and

3.  If #1 or #2 doesn’t work, just live on campus. *shrug*

So the homeys and I became Resident Assistants. Low key, I think their father’s told them the same thing. Maybe I did it for the free housing, maybe it was part of some larger divine plan – but it happened, and it was one of the best things to happen to me in Westwood.

My first group of residents, my children, were amazing. A collection of pale babies, whose fathers were clearly of the Euro-Asian persuasion. We lived in the lap of luxury, Sunset Village, in Delta Terrace – B7. During Halloween, they adopted a squirrel who ran into the building on his own doing effectively making our motto, B7 – Go Nuts. They made me laugh and I made them go the Ashe Center to get shots. I am still a firm believer that they run genetic experiments on the local animal life roaming South Campus in the basement of one of Life Science Buildings. I’ve never seen so many squirrels unafraid of humans; squirrels with human-like strength. My babies (back to them) needed me for everything and they did almost everything I told them to do. And that is why we love first year students. So impressionable. But any parent knows, when they are quiet, they are up to something!

    

After doing a community walk with the Community Service Officer, I returned to my room eager to relieve myself of the duty board and radio. With a few more hours before I could sign off, I planned to get back to homework before some other interruption found me. I rarely locked my door or closed it when I was not in the building. Between the members of the UCLA Football/Basketball Teams and other athletes and friends, it was an exercise in futility. Just as soon as I would leave, someone would show up wanting snacks, or to go to Covel or to watch TV until tutoring. However, most were coming for their hair braiding appointments. What started out as a favor for my cousin, became something of an empire. So it just made sense for people to come in and make themselves at home. Anyway, my residents would let them in the building – so my friends were halfway there.

    

Tonight was different though. Hanging from the doorway upon my return with an excessively long piece of scotch tape was an 8 ½ x 11 sheet of paper with a note and a picture. A picture from one of those miniature Polaroid cameras. You know, back in the day when tweeting a picture was taking a picture, getting the film developed, taping the picture to a piece of paper or putting it in an album, writing something on the back of it, and showing it to people? I took Brian & Eric’s basketball – they always played basketball in the hallway and quite frankly I grew tired of listening to myself say knock it off guys so I took it and hid it in my room.

Now, I had no delusions that this would stop them from playing other recreational sports in the hallway, not even that day, or scare them into not breaking into the girl’s room next door hiding speakers and dragging the wires back to their rooms – connected to a stereo so they could play sounds in the middle of the night in an effort to convince the girls that their room was haunted, or turning the 2^nd floor lounge into a “man cave” and entertaining my friends with Maxim Magazines on bean bag chairs – I did it in a moment of sheer frustration. A stop bouncing the ball because I said so knee-jerk reaction. Jerks.

The Best/Worst Day Ever!

So the note, which I assumed to be a love note from some secret admirer, was a ransom note, with a photo of my stuffed Bugs Bunny, being held hostage by my 2 devious residents. His ears being threatened by a pair of scissors held firmly at the base, awaiting my next move. Of the list of demands was “scooter immunity” for the rest of the year. They warned me to not contact the CSO and that they would be watching. I laughed. I could not help it. I laughed to keep from dying. I could not believe it. Those little knuckleheads actually got me. Damn. But, I had a duty, as a Black woman, to have an “angry Black woman moment” even though it would be feigned for the cameras. I know those 2 little idiots did not just steal my Bugs Bunny!! Then a voice, as quiet and clean as the California night responded, what was that?

    

AAAHHHHH! Yes, my heart sank as I slowly looked for my door to run (damn that, hearing voices? I’m out!). As I’m turning to make my surprise getaway, I see the boys outside my window watching it all. Every. Single. Scene. They got their basketball back that night. I’m a sucker for creativity, and that was genius! I told them that they were going to get evicted from their first apartment within six months. That was the first prophesy I made over the lives of my children. Parents know these types of things about their kids, only I was off a few months. I think they lasted nine.

    

The saddest moment in a parent’s life, I think, is saying goodbye – whatever goodbye means. Though I do not presume to know the pain of saying goodbye to a child you birth, I can certainly tell you about the something like it. Even among parents, to make it similar for each child would not do it justice. It’s too complex, too unique, it’s too tailor made a feeling for that particular child, that to know one, would not necessarily give you any indication of the other. And though we were all UCLA students, I missed them terribly. I wasn’t so sure I’d make it without my babies.

Yea, them.