Sharon Fiffer

1995.  College shopping with daughter, Kate. Extra-long sheets, pillows, comforter, a blanket with the sun and moon on it, towels, cute plastic containers for toiletries, toiletries, a poster or two, notebooks, pens, a boxy Mac computer.  Several trips to local Bed, Bath and Beyond resulting in shopping bags filled to overflowing.  All stuffed into car.  2002.  College shopping with daughter,  Nora.  Extra-long sheets, laptop. The day before move-in, one trip to Bed, Bath and Beyond in NYC resulting in several shopping bags filled to overflowing stuffed in a taxi. 2006.  College shopping with son, Rob. Extra-long sheets. Trip to Bed, Bath and Beyond cut short when he commandeered shopping cart and insisted, "I don't need any of this stuff."

In 1969, did I go college shopping with my mother, Nellie?  Nope.  She didn't approve of my heading off to The University of Illinois.  I heard her ask my dad, "Why is she going? What does she need college for anyway?"

My relationship with Nellie was complicated.  I never doubted that she loved me fiercely, but I was certain she had no idea who I was. It's taken me a lifetime to realize I didn't know her any better.

Walking through a gift shop, I pointed to a ceramic ashtray.  

"Will you buy me that?" I asked.  It wasn't cheap. And the EZ Way Inn, my parents' tavern, had dozens of ashtrays, mine for the taking.

"What for?  You don't smoke."

"But I'm going to college next month.  I'll have friends who smoke."

Nellie bought me the ashtray.

In my room, 914 Illini Tower, I placed the ashtray on my desk. I loved looking at it.  I also started smoking.

It's now been over 40 years since I had a cigarette. The ashtray remains on my desk. I still love looking at it.  And remembering that Nellie bought it for me, for college, even though I didn't smoke.  And even though she didn't want me to leave.