I started college at a small private school in Missouri. There were only 1,000 students and it was hard not to know everyone’s name and face.

Likewise, it was hard not to know who was doing badly in classes. So, when Parent’s Weekend rolled around, most of us knew who was going to have a good weekend visiting with their parents and who was dreading the parent/professor conferences.

I fell in the second category. I was taking 15 hours and was doing well in 12 of them. In the other, which was Western Civ-a traditional freshman class at a liberal arts school-I was miserably flunking.

At my old school, midterm grades were calculated and mailed to parents. Needless to say, my parents weren’t thrilled with that ‘F’ and said they were-a-comin‘ for sure.

Being that the school was almost five hours from home, an itty-bitty speck on the map and making me lonely and doubtful of my ability to choose a college, I was happy to hear they were coming. My spirits sank when they wanted to meet with the good doctor.

I was full of excuses. Everyone was bombing, I said. The professor’s too hard. I’m taking good notes. It was only one test-there’s two more coming. I just didn’t study enough. Please, please, please don’t make an appointment with him!

They did.

They showed up on Friday night, and despite my misgivings, I still was overjoyed to see them. We went to the fall musical and then they left for the night.

The next morning, dozens of parents flooded into the student center to make appointments with the professors. Oddly, the name of my history prof was absent. He had chest pains the afternoon before and was in the hospital. Saved!

The weekend had its merits. My parents found that I wasn’t lying when I told them the place had no life. Very few people attended the football game; most, like us, could be found at the mall in ther nearest “big” town, population 45,000.

My folks also solved some problems for me. One of the reasons I had been so upset with the school is that I had so much free time that I had become a television vegtable. Before I knew it, my parents got me a job in the public relations office. Unfortunately, the deal my dad cut put me on a volunteer basis, but I made friends, used my time more wisely and even learned a few things in the process.

Also, Parents’ Weekend was the first time I went public with my distaste for the school. My folks and I spent a long time with my academic adviser untangling my scholastic mess. Needless to say, I didn’t last more than a couple months after that, but the weekend helped me through it.

I discovered that many of the people on my floor and in my building-even those who acted like college was a breeze for them-were having problems of one sort or another.

Even though it might seem like a pain to host “the parents” this weekend, look for the brighter sides to life. It could be the best weekend yet.