Higher Education

The little man sat in our kitchen, happily slurping up a hot fudge sundae. This week he passed his swim test, passing him to the next level for swim lessons. We celebrated his big achievement with ice cream.

"You're such a big kid now," I said. "Now you can move up to big boy Swim 1 and you're starting Kindergarten. You're all grown up."

As our conversation progressed, the little man became more curious about what lie ahead of him in the future.

"How many grades?" the little man asked.

"Well, you have Kindergarten, then you move on to First Grade, then Second Grade, then Third Grade ... all the way up to 12. There are 12 grades," I said.

The little man's eyes got big. "Then I'm all growed up!" he said.

"Well ... then you get to go to college," I said. "It's a super special school with four more grades."

The little man's eyes got bigger.

"And you get to live in a fancy house called Delta Upsilon," I said, marking my husband's Greek affiliation.

"Dwelta upsilawn ... that's a silly name," the little man laughed. "I don't wanna live in a fancy house."

"Well ... there's other houses you could live in," I said. "There's another super cool one called Theta Xi." (Marking his Uncle Lambo's Greek affiliation.)

The little man giggled some more. "Thtweata eye ... that's silly!"

"Well, where would you like to live when you go to college?" I finally asked the little man.

"I wanna live with Papa," he said. (Who, coincidentally, does live in our Alma mater's hometown.) "I live with Papa at his house."

"What about Grammy Jo?" I asked as I teased him. "Could she do your laundry and make sure you eat dinner every night, if you're living with them?"

"Yeah!" the little man exclaimed. "While Papa and I play with the skid loader."

And with that, college suddenly became a lot more affordable.