By Eliza Stroh
The day my mom dropped me off at boarding school was memorable, if only for its lack of drama. In the weeks leading up to the day when I would leave home and move into the dorm, I imagined the long, tearful goodbye my mother and I would exchange before she left me to fend in my new world. I pictured her hugging me too many times as I stoically assured her that Parents’ Weekend was only a few weeks away — I would see her soon.
So when the last of the boxes were unpacked, I was alarmed by the squeals of her car tires as she sped away without so much as a tear shed. And that was that. There I was alone. And completely exhilarated.