I meet with one of my summer interns every Friday afternoon to catch up on projects and progress. While many students enjoy relatively leisurely summers, this particular student is in overdrive. Not only is she carrying a full load of summer graduate course, but she’s also committing 30 hours a week to this internship, and, of course, working to bring in some cash.
She’s been crushing it so far, but this past week she came in looking a bit defeated, the usual spark in her eye missing and her shoulders slumped. We’re about a third of the way through the internship and it’s starting to wear her down a bit, exacerbated by a morning Zoom call with a professor who took her to the woodshed for a recent paper.
After she took a few moments to vent about the professor’s response, she said at the beginning of it all, when she looked at what she was undertaking this summer, she thought, “I can handle it.” Now that it was here and the grind was real, her eyes got wide for a moment and she shook her head slightly, “you don’t realize how much it really is until you’re into it.”
That this happened the week before Induction Day for the United States Naval Academy Class of 2028 strikes me as synchronicity. I had been thinking about I Day for the past week or two, recounting my own experience (I am on record as declaring it my worst day as a parent, and that hasn’t changed since 2016).
But mostly, I was thinking about Friday. The Morning After.
From the moment a young man or woman accepts that coveted appointment to USNA, most parents begin preparing. But most of us get swept up in all the excitement. The pride is unmistakable and well-warranted. Typically, less than 10% of those who pursue that appointment receive one. And the accolades and congratulations will come in waves.
And there is so much to do before I Day. Planning a trip to Annapolis, the USNA packet, and scouring the USNA parent Facebook pages for insight – when should we arrive, does he need to get a tetanus booster, will they supply sports bras, what’s the best place to grab a bite before the swearing in ceremony, what about a private swearing in ceremony. So many questions.
Many of us who have gone through I Day will offer counsel on what to expect in the days and weeks to follow. But it’s one thing to read those words, it’s quite another to begin living through it.
I recall our house feeling a bit too still the morning after I Day. Now Noah had been away plenty of times, the jazz band trip to Australia, Boy Scout summer camp, but it just felt different. Even our beloved dog, Falcon, sensed things felt off. She scanned his room a couple of times and as the day neared its end, she quietly laid down by the front door, knowing that a member of the flock was missing.
For parents with kids in the military, The Morning After is not quite as big a deal. While it was still emotional to watch Cate walk into the building for her inprocessing at the Air Force Academy Prep School, I had some comfort in knowing, in general, what both she and I would experience over the next few weeks.
The Morning After for Noah, however, began a most difficult two-week stretch. Part of that was because of his response at the end of I Day … actually, that was a huge part of it … but another part was the unknown. With the jazz band and Boy Scout trips, we knew a lot of the people he would be spending time with, including the adult chaperones. When he marched through those colossal doors of Bancroft Hall, and they slammed unmercifully literally and symbolically separating us, we didn’t know much of anything. Who were these upperclass detailers charged with running Plebe Summer? Who would he be sharing his room with? So many questions. And not few, but zero, answers.
I had read a lot about Induction Day. I had read some – and would read a lot more – about Plebe Summer. But now it was here. I heard it was difficult waiting for that first phone call. I had heard about the anxiety of wondering if that first call would be a difficult one. I knew he would have to write home in the first week or so but would that letter be a plea for help (or escape) or just a shoulder-shrugging, “you won’t believe some of this stuff.”
I had read about it. I knew – or thought I knew – what would happen. But now there was absolutely nothing abstract about it. Anxiety and bouts of depression overwhelmed pervious feelings of excitement and pride. While the weeks leading up to I Day had been filled with the future – Plebe Parents Weekend should be fun … which football game should we come down for? … I hope he finds a major he likes … He’s never really talked about what sort of job he’d like to do, so … – I found that in that first week or so after I Day, I couldn’t think much past the next few hours. I found myself trying to hyper-concentrate at work, immersing myself in the details of our upcoming annual event. At home, I would try to focus on making dinner or cleaning the dishes, though I often found myself wandering aimlessly through the supermarket, not sure why I was there, let alone what I was looking for.
During this time, I struggled with Facebook. While I found willing ears to listen and folks to provide support, my feed was filled with parents gushing over the “amazing” I Day experience and how excited their now-Plebe was when they spoke with them just after the swearing in ceremony. The experienced parents – and one in particular – shoulder me through that and helped me start to develop my mantra – Your Experience Is The Right Experience.
I came to learn that despite the stereotype that all of these men and women were singular in their motivation to attend and experience while attending was singular and uniform, every one of them had a unique story. Grant Vermeer would later say to me – “Everyone is there for their own reason.” It took me a while to understand and embrace that, but once I did, my experience improved immensely. This was not Noah’s life-long dream. He was not enjoying any bit of Plebe Summer. He would not sail through his four years with a smile on his face. But it would still be a great experience, one he would come to treasure with highlights he would cherish, and I can say the same as a USNA dad.
So as the Class of 2028 parents sip their morning coffee on this, their Morning After, I hope they allow themselves time to adjust to the new reality. I hope that however Induction Day went, they take a deep breath and recognize they are now strapped into a four-year roller coaster; there will be highs but there will be lows. Some will have higher highs and more highs than you. Some will have lower lows and more lows than you. And everyone is having the experience they were meant to have. And every experience is the right experience.
Take a deep breath now. Most importantly, remember you are not alone. The USNA parent community is unlike anything you’ve likely every encountered and we are here to support you and your Plebe. Because Your Mid Is My Mid, and even though we made it out to the other side of commissioning, we didn’t do it alone. You don’t have to, either.
Welcome aboard.
A few random resources for you (if nothing else, they’ll occupy some time between now and the first phone call):
Here’s a Plebe Summer playlist I put together for the Class of 2023 (still applies today!)
A few years back, I wrote A Prayer for A Plebe – here’s the link to the text and here’s a reading by Steve Wade, author of The Naval Academy – A Parent’s Ponderings from Home Port: Untying the Bowline on I-Day.
My Kid The Mid 