The launch
I just watched my wonderful eldest son pull out of our driveway in his loaded down Subaru, headed to Utah to start a job.
There aren't ceremonies for these moments, but there ought to be. I bought him a Thule box for his skis and loaded him down with our EZPass transponder (which apparently is only useful until about Kentucky, so I gave him a roll of quarters, too.) I threw a jar of peanut butter in his car, fearful about starvation or something. I warned him about drowsy driving and enjoined his companion on the first leg to get a motel room around midnight. I can't do more. He is launched. I am ground control and all I can do is be a voice from Earth now.
I shouldn't be crying. He's 23. But it hurts like labor hurts.
There aren't ceremonies for these moments, but there ought to be. I bought him a Thule box for his skis and loaded him down with our EZPass transponder (which apparently is only useful until about Kentucky, so I gave him a roll of quarters, too.) I threw a jar of peanut butter in his car, fearful about starvation or something. I warned him about drowsy driving and enjoined his companion on the first leg to get a motel room around midnight. I can't do more. He is launched. I am ground control and all I can do is be a voice from Earth now.
I shouldn't be crying. He's 23. But it hurts like labor hurts.