I was terribly close to my parents when I was a little girl. In fact, literally a few feet. From the time I was born until the time I left for UNC, I lived in the room next to them, a cheerful Carolina blue bedroom with an adjoining door. Once, in a fit of 13 year old independence, I gathered up my courage and moved upstairs. I didn't like it. After a few months without hearing the hushed voices of my folks and their footsteps up and down the hall, I gathered up my pride, threw independence out the window, and and slunk back downstairs.
At ten, when I was packed off to Camp Rainbow with my best friend Kathryn, my mom had reassured me that I would LOVE it! My older sister told me I would LOVE it! It'll be great! You and Kathryn can swim, do crafts, meet other girls, fun, fun, fun, all the time!
I HATED it. Kathryn HATED it. We wrote letters to my parents to PLEASE come get us. They were mailed to a campground a few miles away in the mountains of North Carolina, where my parents sought some much deserved privacy. We begged, we wrote multiple missives in our one short week of camp but when the letters didn't find their target, we were forced to tough out our week. We were ever so glad to be picked up. Such martyrs for staying the whole week!
When the day came to be dropped off at UNC, I was both excited and terrified. My parents remained upbeat and encouraging (they had been waiting for that empty nest!) but Kathryn's mom sobbed as our parents pulled out of the parking lot. That kept my own tears somewhat at bay.
I adapted well, but the phone calls to and from home were tough. I stayed busy with classes and made new friends and loved Chapel Hill, but speaking to my folks just pulled those heartstrings. No texts and the scarcity of calls made them even more precious and more than once my voice thickened and cracked before I could say goodbye. It made my dad crazy. Finally he felt he must address it head on.
"Boots" he said.
"It's not so bad. You could have caner. Or be in a concentration camp."
Words to live by.
When my boys were little, they were just as bad as I had been.
In preschool a 3 year old Nat had a very understanding and supportive teacher. Which is good, because he cried. He cried EVERY day. The only way I could leave him was to let him figure out a way to deal with it. He did. He took his baby blanket, spread it in the corner of the classroom, laid down on his stomach with his head on his baby pillow and looked at a photo of our small family while I left the building.
Zack's preschool drop-offs were equally bad. He had to have his stuffed Barney. He would stand at the window crying and holding onto Barney until he could no longer see my car.
But they both managed to grow up. And though they went to school in-state, they've journeyed to Belize, England, Germany, France, Japan and more, each with a semester study abroad.
And now it is time for Zack to leave home. In the morning he is leaving to drive to California where he will hop a plane bound for Japan to explore more of the country he fell in love with while studying abroad. At the end of the that time, he will have a leisurely drive back across county - all told about 9 weeks away from home. Plans for the summer are up in the air but are decidedly not in North Carolina. And in the fall he will most likely be leaving for graduate school in California.
One of the richest gifts my mom gave me was to never shed a tear when I left home. Oh she missed me, as evidenced by the reams of letters I have tucked in a box under my bed, but as a kindness to me, she never cried, or insisted I come home, or acted upset if I celebrated holidays away. She let me live my life on my terms, which I have always deeply appreciated.
And now, with the anticipation of watching the little blue Toyota leave my driveway tomorrow morning, I know how expensive that gift was and what a price she paid! My tear ducts seem to have a mind of their own and I wish I could say I have been as stalwart as she, but from time to time this week my eyes have overflowed and my chest has felt as though it would surely burst. But I will try to be brave and smile and wave and be happy for this great adventure!
After all, it's not cancer or a concentration camp.
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| Zack and I the day before his great adventure! |
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