When the time came for our actual parting at the California college campus where our daughter and our money would be spending the next four years, the farewell was hurried and somewhat detached.

She was running late, of course, for the morning's freshman orientation session. I pulled the rental car over to drop her at the curb. With impatient motorists riding my bumper and the front-seat console and freshly applied lip gloss preventing meaningful contact, she leaned in for a quick peck on the cheek and a perfunctory "I love you" before bounding out of the car to join her new brethren.

And that was that. No tears. No lingering embrace. No final words of encouragement or endearment. Fly away, little birdie, fly away!

It was a much more emotional scene at the airport in Hawai'i when she said aloha to her dad and little brother before boarding the Mainland-bound flight, leaving her Island home behind.

It had been a good summer, with a fun job at the beach, a final fling with friends and a gold medal at the state paddling championships. But the last few weeks before her departure were marked by a palpable restlessness that life was waiting for her somewhere else. And, after 18 1/2 years of picking up wet towels from the floor, I was ready for a split, too. "Are you still here?" I'd joke when she emerged from her black hole of a bedroom, wiping the sleep from her eyes although the sun was well overhead.

I had used our remaining time to tutor her in a crash course on semi-adulthood. I warned her about date rape, walking across campus at night, jock worship, securing her room and belongings and not letting her laptop run on battery power for too long so it wouldn't burst into flames. I advised her to beware of evil credit card companies and self-serve ice cream in the dorm cafeteria.

I encouraged her to take full advantage of the school and community's cultural life and to be open-minded about all the new people she would be meeting. Even though those Mainland kids all look and dress alike, as she observed upon arriving at campus, life is not MTV. "Give them a chance," I said.

After flying home, I was determined not to contact her until the weekend, but less than 24 hours later, she called to tell me about the math department orientation meeting that opened with fog machines and a laser light show. She told me about her youngish adviser who was really cool and liked to surf and was excited to learn she was from Hawai'i.

I was pleased that she still wanted to share her day with her mother.

Then she called the next morning from the campus bookstore. "I forgot which history class I'm taking. Can you look up my schedule online?"

With free long-distance, e-mail and instant messaging, this cutting-the-cord thing may be harder than I thought. Well, at least there's an ocean between me and her dirty laundry.

Reach Christie Wilson at cwilson@honoluluadvertiser.com.