I remember the day I moved out of my parent’s house. Eighteen years old and ready to face the world. I loaded everything I owned in a green 1973 Impala and drove 2000 miles away. It felt good to be on my own and, for better or worse, I was the master of my own destiny.
I won’t try to convince anyone that I was actually grown up, or mature - too many people are still around who knew me then. I did have a job and paid all my bills, but I was still a kid. The good news is, I learned an awful lot of stuff that can only be acquired through experience. And the bad news is, I learned a lot of stuff that can only be acquired through experience.
In less than a month, my son will be leaving for school. Moving out, and living on his own. Aside from making me feel old, I have rather mixed emotions about the whole thing. On one hand, I’m glad for him. He has a great opportunity, and is a responsible person, I’m sure he can manage. On the other hand, he will be moving a long ways away. That wouldn’t be so bad except that I know he’ll have to learn some of the same stuff I learned - and through experience. That’s what has me feeling somewhat apprehensive.
I should be used to this by now. My two older children moved out a few years ago, so I should be all practiced up and able to handle this one with no problem. Yeah, right. My daughters didn’t move that far away, and I’m still around if they need me. (Which they rarely do, but its okay to pretend, right?) The difference this time is I’m afraid my son may be a little too much like his father.
That could be a good sign though. After all, I made it - and for the most part unscathed. Yet, I’m sure that won’t help when a few weeks from now my son loads up all his belongings and set off down the road. But, on the bright side - at least I’ll know how my parents felt the day I left home.