Well… it happened, and I’m not happy Well, I guess it’s time to deal with it. After all, this isn’t anything millions of parents before and millions to come after me haven’t faced. I don’t like it. It makes me upset just to think about it. So, I’ve been trying not to. You know, in all these years of writing about my two “little ones” here, I’ve never had one single parent ever say to me: “You know, you’ve got it wrong. Mine were kids for too long. I was so happy that they grew up fast.” I’ve just never heard it. And I’ve chatted with many about my musings here. All the time- in 100 percent of the cases- I gain a sympathetic ear. Well, the “oldest” is graduating eighth grade this week. Samantha is launching from the Mount Olive Middle School to high school in the fall. The graduation was Monday night. I doubt, at this writing on Friday, that I took it well. I never do. Am I happy? Not even a little bit. I can’t muster, at all, that “She is growing up and moving on” mentality. It saddens me even to type out these words. Yes, I’m a sentimental dad. And a dad that really does- and did- want them to “stay little forever.” I mean come on! I still remember MY eighth grade graduation like it were last month! T’was 1982. Byram Intermediate School. We sang John Lennon’s “Imagine” as the graduation song. That was a year after he was killed. I didn’t get the relevance then. I do now. Back then, I didn’t care. When I voted, I chose “Bette Davis Eyes,” of course! But that’s no surprise. I’d choose it again today. But that’s another story. Back to today, 2013. And it’s just not a good week. It all went too fast. Where is that little tiny baby I carried around Roxbury town hall so proudly in 1998 and 1999? Or that toddler that would run up and sit on my lap. Now, she’s a teenager. They don’t, typically, run up and sit on your lap. To be certain, she is wonderful with me. She’ s a good “project doer.” So, when we have to put up a tent, or set up some tables, or even re-arrange my collectibles down in the basement, she’s the top choice. And her sense of humor? Well, let’s just say I know where she got it from. Is she moody? Most definitely. Frequently. In a way that the 10-year old, Michael, never is. But, I don’t mind so much. My days are filled with thinking up fun things for them to do, and ways to make wonderful, life-lasting memories for them. I think I do a pretty good job in that department. I’m so trying not to think about it that I almost didn’t sit down and pen- well, type- this column. It’s just not a good thought. Sure, it’s normal, and it’s not life-threatening or tragic or anything like that. But if you’re a parent, you know what I mean. It’s just a little bit painful. Seeing them grow up is supposed to be rich and rewarding. I guess it is, in a way. But for me, it’s just a lot depressing and maybe a tiny bit rewarding. I’d be just as “rewarded” to have her be 4 and 5 again. “Enjoy it. It doesn’t last.” If I had a nickel for every time I’ve heard that. But boy, was it true. The good news? Maybe she’ll inherit my other good trait and start really picking up after herself and cleaning up her room. I’m still surrounded at my desk by pictures of them as babies, as toddlers. How can these be the same kids? They’re so “big.” And I hate the cliché of “where did all that time go?” so I try not to think about it. But obviously, that’s not working too well, at least right now. The bright side? Maybe high school will be a LONG four years, and I mean that only in the best possible sense. Some more good news? Well, it’s hard. But I’m trying. The “little guy” is only 10. That’s the good news. He’s still got a long way to go, right? Oh, did I mention he’s entering middle school next year?
Posted on: Fri, 21 Jun 2013 17:10:38 +0000
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