he drive up to Ithaca, New York is a familiar one. My family and I attempt to make the 6-hour hike at least once every couple of years, and by this past summer I was used to the trek.

But this time, it was more than nostalgic walks around the beautiful national parks and trips to the local ice cream shop that awaited me at the end of the journey.

My mom and I had signed up to take a tour of Ithaca College.

Both my parents had attended Ithaca. It was the place where they both made lifelong memories and friends, mastered various life skills, and began to enter adulthood. It was the town where my parents had met and they knew the campus like the backs of their hands.

Now, they looked to me to live vicariously through. From the time I was young, my parents had encouraged the idea of attending Ithaca College for me. I had been on the campus multiple times by the time I was ten and they had told me story after story about their crazy college adventures.

By the time I was twelve, I had my life planned out. I would attend Cornell—because it’s in Ithaca, but bette—major in Journalism, and move to New York City after graduation, where I would work for the New York Times, while going to Broadway auditions on the side. Realistic, I know.

That dream has definitely changed. Now, I’m more interested in political science or law, I definitely can’t afford to live in NYC right out of college, and Cornell is not necessarily an option for me nor even where I really want to go.

So, maybe Ithaca College could be the right place for me?

The campus is small and pretty with a medium-sized population, it’s diverse in students and in majors, and their theatre program is professional and well-known. Not to mention that nothing would make my parents happier.

On the day of the tour, the first I had ever been to, my mom decided to come with me on campus, while my dad stayed with our dog—who is named after Ithaca’s student union building, by the way—at a nearby park. She was more nervous and excited than I was.

The mortification began—but surely didn’t end—when she teared up at the welcome video that played before the tour even started. Of course, we were sitting right up front and received sideways glances from the woman speaking at the podium. I elbowed and shushed her endlessly, but she waved me away as she dabbed at her eyes with a tissue.

Then, we broke off into two groups to begin walking the campus. My mother was certainly the quickest to make friends with our guide, asking her personal questions about her experiences at Ithaca, and making sure to point out that she was an alumna, as well.

Everywhere we stopped, my mother told a personal anecdote, followed up by a question to the guide if things were still the same as they were when she was here. She would then look at me with an expectant smile, waiting to see my thoughts and reactions. Five minutes in, I had to pull her aside to remind her that this was my tour, not hers. She backed off a little, but my mother doesn’t do anything in small doses—and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

The farther we went along, the funnier it became. When we entered the dining hall, she told me how her and her friends used to sneak food out, right before the building closed. When we passed the fountain in the center of campus, she told me how all the seniors jump in the day of graduation, and, if you’re still a virgin, you have to touch the metal ball in the center of the fountain.

I could picture myself on the campus, sitting by the lake reading a book, laughing with new friends at the cafe. But did I see this because I wanted it, or because my parents wanted it for me?

My mom made it a point to assure me that she would support me in whatever college I chose to attend, but she said it with a sense of insincerity that implied she would support me the most if I went to Ithaca.

Honestly, Ithaca is a top contender for my college of choice, regardless of my parents’ wishes. But I’m not ready to stop exploring my other options, either. On the same trip to Ithaca, we also toured Syracuse, and we have plans to visit D.C. to tour American this spring break. I don’t want to have to limit myself just for the possibility of becoming a “legacy,” and I know my parents don’t want that for me either.

So, I’ll put up with a few nostalgic tears and crazy stories of way back when, because when I do eventually leave for college, no matter where, I know I’ll miss them more than ever.