Stories From Here: The Hug I've Been Dreading for 18 Years
For some reason, when I picture my son as a baby, I always picture his feet. They were little pink blocks, almost as wide as they were long, and I would kiss those suckers every chance I got. Those little stumps are now a size 11 and are pointed in a direction distinctly away from us. The separation has been happening gradually for years, accelerating when he and his friends discovered the freedom of a driver’s license, and culminating with high school graduation and this - the dreaded (by us) college drop-off.
There is no question that this is as it should be. As an 18 year-old young man, he would not enjoy remaining under our roof and our rules for much longer. Curfews have been disputed all summer, friends have already left for school, and our “baby” is eager for this next transition. Despite this natural progression, I marvel that the reward for good parenting is that your kids grow up, become self-reliant, and fly the coop. We’ve survived potty training, Little League, heartbreaks, and college applications, and now that this incredibly interesting young man is confident and funny, he is moving 3,000 miles away from us. Or as my mom, quoting Dr. Henry Jones (Indiana Jones’ dad), liked to say to me, “You left just when you were getting interesting.”
Best of luck to you buddy…we are so excited for your next adventure!