I don’t know exactly when the “college tour” became a thing amongst college-bound teens or parents for that matter. I must admit, over the last several years I’ve enjoyed laughing at my Facebook friends who post their proud parent “weekend-a-pa-looza look at me” pre-college experience.  But now I’m in it…and I’m not laughing.

There comes a moment in every family’s life when a simple Saturday morning quietly transforms into a multi-state road trip powered by oversized iced coffees, GPS recalculations, and one recurring question: “Can you see yourself here?”

Welcome to college tour season — where parents attempt to evaluate higher education while teenagers evaluate “the vibe.”

It always starts with optimism. You pack snacks, organize a carefully timed itinerary, and convince yourself this might actually be enjoyable family bonding time. A few hours later, however, reality sets in. You’ve somehow passed the same highway exit twice, your teenager has been wearing AirPods since Rhode Island, and every attempt at meaningful conversation is answered with: “I don’t know… stuff.”

Then comes the campus tour itself. You arrive seven minutes late, which apparently translates to “wildly irresponsible” in college admissions culture. A cheerful sophomore named Emma — almost certainly a Communications major — greets the group with the enthusiasm of someone who has never had to pay a heating bill. She begins confidently: “This is our beautiful quad…”. And suddenly you realize every college in America has the exact same ingredients: a quad, a student center featuring a lonely ping pong table symbolizing “community,” a dining hall ranked #1 in some oddly specific category, and a library proudly open 24/7 during finals week — which is another way of saying it smells like stress, coffee, and energy drinks.

As the tour continues, parents and teenagers are clearly conducting two entirely different evaluations. Parents are mentally reviewing academic programs, graduation rates, internship opportunities, and career outcomes. Teenagers, meanwhile, are focused on hoodie quality, social atmosphere, and whether they can envision themselves casually walking to class holding an iced coffee.

You lean over and ask quietly, “What do you think?” Your teen shrugs and responds: “It’s mid.” You spend the next twenty minutes trying to determine whether that’s positive feedback or a sign you should immediately stop contributing to the 529 plan.

Then comes the dorm tour. You step into a room approximately the size of a large pantry somehow designed to house two adults, multiple suitcases, and a mini fridge. The tour guide cheerfully describes it as “cozy,” while you privately wonder whether the room violates several building codes. Your teenager, somehow unfazed, says: “I could make this work.” You make a mental note to revisit that statement when move-in day arrives.

The dining hall portion of the tour brings its own level of confusion. You’re told there are “over 12 dining options,” yet somehow every station still appears to involve pizza. There’s also a salad bar that looks emotionally exhausted. Your teenager samples something and says: “This is actually kinda good.” This is especially remarkable considering they rejected the exact same meal you made at home three nights earlier.

Meanwhile, on the drive home, parents inevitably attempt to gently introduce topics like tuition costs, housing expenses, and the concept of “investing in your future.” Your teenager responds: “Yeah, but did you see the gym?” And honestly, that may be the entire admissions strategy now.

But beneath all the awkward pauses, emotional swings, and debates over campus food, something genuinely meaningful is happening. Your teenager is beginning to picture their future. You’re beginning to realize they may someday actually leave your house. And somewhere between the campus quads and overpriced sweatshirts, both of you are learning how to navigate this next chapter together.

Because in the end, the college tour isn’t really about picking a school. It’s about watching your child take one small step toward independence — and accepting that, somehow, “the vibes” might actually matter after all.