Mystery Diagnosis

I got a rash on my neck in the late summer of 2000. (This information must surely fascinate you and have you tingling with anticipation.) I could not figure out what was causing it. We tried changing a variety of things at home to no effect. I went to a doctor who confirmed that I did indeed have a rash and sent me on my way. The rash went on unabated for months. This has nothing, and everything, to do with the following events.

The West Point Parents Club of Georgia had a send-off picnic at Fort McPherson in Atlanta when Ann was about to head off to West Point in the summer of 2000. We didn’t know such a thing existed or for what purpose.

We went to the picnic and heard some presentations from current and former West Pointers about what to expect. It was one of many eye-opening experiences. We knew West Point was incredibly difficult, but you can never know too much about the future. What we did not know in particular was how difficult West Point is on the PARENTS.

Yes, the Parents Club was ostensibly there to support the cadets at West Point, but it was also there to support the parents. Parents have limited contact with their children when they enter West Point. The first summer at West Point is essentially spent conducting army basic training. The cadets get maybe one phone call and an occasional letter out. In the absence of information, parents are left to imagine and assume the worst about their children who are suddenly and continuously absent for the first time in 18 years.

The separation anxiety of sending Ann off to college was tough enough, but knowing that she was going through basic training before the academic year made the experience doubly tough. I know it was extremely hard on her, but it wasn’t any picnic for us as parents either. Ann could at least DO something about her circumstances. The only thing we could do as parents was send letters of encouragement. We weren’t even allowed to send a stick of chewing gum inside a letter. We very much needed the support of the Parents Club to tell us our anxiety was natural and to be expected.

When we did get a phone call or a letter from Ann it usually contained news of some new form of misery she was undergoing. This did not help our anxiety levels at all, but we were told by the veteran parents that this allowed the cadet to dump their burdens on us, and were as right as rain as soon as they were done venting. I didn’t believe any of it.

We became faithful attendees of the West Point Parents Club meetings. We wanted to know everything we could about what Ann was undergoing so we could be helpful, supportive, and sympathetic.

We went up to West Point for Reception Day in late June when Ann and all the other candidates reported for the first time. We went up again at the end of the summer for Acceptance Day, when the candidates who survived summer training were accepted into the Corps of Cadets as “Plebes”. We went up again for Plebe-Parent Weekend that fall to see her again. Each visit revealed at least one new aspect of West Point that was worrisome for us as parents. One of my least favorite memories was being told that I could not hug my daughter in public while she was in uniform. Bullfeathers!

Anyway, to make an already too long pseudo-story shorter, Ann survived the summer and the first full semester at West Point and came home (for the first time since June) for Christmas. In a quiet private moment I had a chance to ask Ann if she was doing okay up there and whether she thought she could survive the place. Ann said to me in a grave voice, “Dad, it’s the hardest thing I’ve ever done, but it’s not more than I can handle.”

My rash went away soon thereafter.