Yesterday I took my oldest to his new college
campus. We checked him into his dorm
room, the typical white washed cinderblock room with a tall wide window, two
desks, two beds, two closets and two dressers.
We walked to the student center, past groups of young adults chatting
and laughing. My boy walked in as if he
were entering his old tree house, with confidence and comfort that shocked
me. He got his student ID and his
schedule. He seemed at ease, almost
accustomed as we walked the campus, map in hand.
I, on the other hand have been a human sized stomach full
of butterflies, no worse, than butterflies…more like a stomach full of
hornets. The more comfortable he seems,
the more sickened I become. I continue
to watch him taking steps into adulthood…steps that I know are glorious and
right…but all I can see are his steps away from me.
I found an article, written by a father delivering his son
to college for the first time. Reading
it feels as if someone tapped into my heart and mind and poured out my thoughts
onto paper.
“The emotions of a parent, I can attest, are an odd mix:
part pride, part resignation, part self-pity, even a bit of something that
feels like grief. The experience is natural and common. And still planets are
thrown off their axes… Eighteen years is not enough. A crib is bought. Christmas trees get picked
out. There is the park and lullabies and a little help with homework. The days
pass uncounted, until they end. The adjustment is traumatic…But with due
respect to my son’s feelings, I have the worst of it. I know something he
doesn’t — not quite a secret, but incomprehensible to the young. He is
experiencing the adjustments that come with beginnings. His life is starting
for real. I have begun the long letting go. Put another way: He has a wonderful
future in which my part naturally diminishes… Parenthood offers many lessons in
patience and sacrifice. But ultimately, it is a lesson in humility. The very
best thing about your life is a short stage in someone else’s story. And it is
enough…18 years is a window that closed too quickly. But, my son, those days
have been the greatest wonder and privilege of my life. And there will always
be a room for you.” -By Michael
Gerson, Washington Post, August 19, 2013
Tomorrow I will drop
off my boy, and with a final hug, I will let him go…let him live and grow and
experience great and hard things. While
my heart breaks I will try to smile.
Over the lump in my throat and the weight on my chest I will yell out, “Great
Scott, it’s the Golden Knight.”
