When I consider the children I might decide to spawn when I'm older, I can picture them doing all kinds of things: winning Nobel prizes, becoming leaders of the free world, and buying me tacky "#1 Mom" mugs for Mother's Day (which is this weekend, for all you slackers) to name a few. However, the one thing I could never imagine doing is letting them matriculate at Dartmouth.
That's not to say I don't like Dartmouth or haven't been enjoying my time here. Dartmouth is alright. We get decent weather two weeks a year, the food is edible and there's enough Keystone in circulation to refill the Connecticut River if it ever dried up or something. I tout the wonders of Dartmouth to younger friends from high school and to the swarms of prospies who invade campus every year. But to my own flesh and blood? No thank you.
If I were to send my children to Dartmouth, I would probably have to equip them with a homemade book -- with apologies to Dr. Seuss -- called "Oh the Places You'll Boot." I'd be forced to include on this list the smattering of dorms and off-campus houses they'd live in, the dorms and off-campus houses of the boys and girls they would drunkenly meet and go home with, more than half of the Greek houses on campus, all the bathrooms in buildings in which they'll have 10As (that is, if Dartmouth doesn't abolish that horrible time slot before my children are of college age) and probably a few street corners and patches of the Green for good measure.
And that's only based on personal experience.
I'd have a hard time reconciling the facts of Dartmouth life with the virtues I'd be trying to instill in my kids. It would be difficult to be a parent of Dartmouth students, as a Dartmouth alum, without being a bit of a hypocrite.
It's one thing to know that your kids are going to make the same old mistakes that you made, but it's another entirely to know where they'll be making them. We've all resorted to the classic "You can't tell me not to [drink, stay out late, etc.] when I know you used to!" argument with our parents.
Imagine how much easier it would be to drive home that point if the walls of your dorm room were shaded with the distant stains of your mother's projectile vomit.
Having children at Dartmouth would also bring out the over-the-hill, sketchy alum within me. I would probably come up for every big weekend, try to get a game of pong at all my old haunts and be completely unaware that the current students saw me as some washed-up has-been.
It's kind of like if you've ever gone back and visited your high school. There are all these rules that don't apply to you ("No, Mrs. Hall Monitor, I'm not going to put my cell phone away. I don't even go here!"), and all the students and teachers are going about their day with nothing to say to an old grad.
Having children who attend the College would also put a serious strain on my relationship with my offspring. Who would want to see mom throw-saving to try to impress a frat brother less than half her age? I would lose any credibility as a disciplinarian, and definitely mortify my children. If I ever come back and feel the need to unleash my inner cougar, I wouldn't want to have my kids watching.
So my reasons for not wanting to start a Dartmouth legacy are fairly selfish, but my hypothetical children will truly fare better at a different school. I'll return to Hanover for Homecoming and embarrass myself, but let my kids imagine I'm at some classy alumni gathering.
I think I'll send them across the country. They'll thank me. At least for the weather.
