In My Mother's Eyes
The time my mom earned me street cred from thousands of miles away.
The first time I ever went to a bar in New York City—or anywhere for that matter—my mother came with me. I was newly 18 and 3,000 miles away from home, having moved from Arizona a few days earlier to attend Barnard College. It was orientation week—that freshman rite of passage where you match personalities with the profile pictures you friended at random over the summer.
After a few nights of orientation activities, and navigating Columbia fraternity parties, a few of my new best friends–who I’d lose touch with by the following year–and I decided to venture off campus. There was a Facebook event proclaiming the first “Can’t Miss Party” of the year. It promised to bring together freshmen from NYU, CU, Barnard, Parsons and FIT. It was 18 and older! With a theme encouraging cleavage!
We pre-gamed—a new concept to me—and giggled as we poured vodka into a Pepsi bottle to sneak on the subway. I was nervous and excited. I didn’t have to go home at midnight. Or have …