COLUMN: "Parental Guidance Suggested"

From Andra Fogel and Darren Fogel's "He Got the Bigger Room," Fall '92 We can't tell you how ours felt because they didn't show up. They were too embarrassed. They didn't want to be associated with the writers of such a ridiculous column. But really, what do you do with your parents after they make the long trek? Should they meet your professor -- even though he gave you a "D"? Should they immediately go to the Bookstore to beat the lines and to be outfitted in the newest "I'm a Proud Penn Parent" neon orange and green sweatshirt? Should they go to some of the "homey" local establishments? Perhaps a game of Streetfighter II at Video Galaxy. Maybe a drink at Murph's. Or maybe a 40th Street shopping extravaganza for incense, knock-off perfumes and feminist literature -- don't forget a family portrait in front of the "X." The weekend starts off well enough. Friday night you inevitably hit them up for dinner. In the process, you end up doing more research than you've done all semester to find the place with the best food, and highest prices. You make twenty reservations around the city at restaurants whose names you couldn't even pronounce. "Yes, I'd like a reservation for 6 o'clock at 'So Fuzzy.' " "That's Sfuzzi, sir -- the 'S' is silent." Or you realize that the Robin Leach-frequented, tres French and very expensive Le Bec Fin is the restaurant of choice. "Andra, do you speak French?" "No, Darren, I thought Mom made you take it. You order." Whether or not your folks enjoy paying for the meal or enjoy your company, your stomach is happy, and that is what counts. After all, it's Parents Weekend. After dinner, you convince your parents they should go back to the hotel and rest up for Saturday. In the lobby of the hotel, an informal Penn parent restaurant review takes place. "Does that cosmetic surgeon from Lawngisland really think he knows anything about haute cuisine? He couldn't tell the difference between a cellulite-filled thigh and filet mignon." Knowing your parents have eaten those little mints on the pillows, have stolen all the free soap and shampoo they can find and fallen asleep, you briefly achieve peace of mind. You know that the phone will ring bright and early the next morning, but you don't give a thought about spending your Friday night out. Sure enough, at 9:30 a.m. your phone rings. While attempting to sound awake, you convince your over-eager Mom -- all aerobicized and ready for the big day -- that you need to study before you go out. The intellectual ploy works every time. You go back to sleep. At noon, you call your folks and tell them you are ready for them to take you for lunch or breakfast. This is Meal #2 that you don't have to eat off a tray or while standing on a street corner. Then, you head to Franklin Field. There, you freeze your buns off while waiting in line for hot chocolate only to discover that they ran out. Now your fur-clad mom is really mad. Meanwhile, you have the pleasure of answering the question "When do they throw the toast?" at least 17 times. At halftime, the Penn Band reminds your parents that they are spending $100,000 to send you to school. Before the Penn Band conveniently brought up the price, the Harvard band graciously discussed quality in glowing terms like "safety school." Finally, the Quakers kicked their pompous Harvard butts. If you and your parents didn't venture to the game, chances are you went downtown to do something cultural, such as the Franklin Institute or Philadelphia Museum of Art, or to go shopping. Chances are you went shopping. Good thing you aren't at the game so the band could remind your parents about the cost of tuition. Someone has to keep J. Crew in business. After the game or when your parents have reached their credit limit, you head back to school and give them the traditional campus tour. Isn't it strange how the people who never say hello to you on a normal day, suddenly become your best friend and politely introduce you and your parents to their parents? Of course, as soon they walk away, you tell your parents that the kid is a "tool." Your mom asks, "What's a tool?" Your dad asks, "Who's a fool?" Oh, Parents' Weekend? Now, you reach that two-hour period in which you don't know what the hell to do with your parents. So, you clean. Or, more accurately, your mom cleans despite the fact that you spent all day Thursday trying to make the room look respectable. Mom pulls off her wig, puts in a golden hoop earring and reveals that she is secretly Mr. Clean. Immediately, she begins to scour your sink. You begin to wonder if her face will be smiling up at you when you go to the bathroom the next morning. You ask if she wants to do your laundry too, but she laughs, thinking that your question was a joke. At least you tried. Time for another expensive meal. At this point, thought, the conversation flows about as freely as the beer at a Theta Xi party. Your parents begin to play the famous game "Jewish Geography" with random people at adjacent tables. (This game works particularly well if you're from New York, but can also be played by non-Jews under strict Rabbinic supervision.) Sunday finally arrives. It's not that you don't like your parents, it's just that they are a lot easier to handle at home. However, with the arrival of Sunday the abundance of good food ends with a final brunch at White Dog. Then comes the moment of truth. Did your parents enjoy the weekend or not? Before Dad can pull his wallet out of his pocket, your hands are outstretched much like the beggar's you saw outside Le Bec Fin. You even offer to rap "The Red and Blue" for a hearty contribution. Dad comes through! Hugs and kisses are quickly exchanged. The family mobile takes off. Thank heavens! Thanksgiving is still 11 days away. Darren Fogel and Andra Fogel are siblings from Rydal, Pennsylvania. She is a College freshman; he is a senior Entrepreneurial Management major. "He Got the Bigger Room" appears alternate Wednesdays.

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