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You get the call — or the letter, or the text with the photo of the acceptance packet — and everything that follows happens in a blur of pride and logistics. Your son or daughter is going to West Point. The United States Military Academy. Four years that will reshape their life. And yours. Then…
It starts the way the best weekends always do — with a decision to leave. It’s a Friday afternoon and the city feels heavy. The noise, the pace, the walls of your apartment closing in just slightly more than they did on Monday. You don’t want a hotel lobby. You don’t want a resort wristband….
What is there more kindly than the feeling between host and guest?