So Far

If you've been hanging around this corner of cyberspace for any amount of time, you might have read a story or two about the trials and tribulations of my son escaping the oh-so-nurturing vortex of his home to spend the night away. I am pleased, for all of those involved's sake to report that the crisis portion of this syndrome seems to have passed. This past weekend he spent the night at his friends house and we received a call a little before ten o'clock, letting his parents know that he was heading off to sleep. No drama. No worries. Just checking in and wishing us a good night.
A stark contrast from years past when we had tortured calls that were full of tears and complaints, fear and misery. On several occasions his mother and I took turns talking him down from the terror of the night. Before that we used to get in the car and go pick him up, too distraught to do much more than simply come home and collapse into his own bed and wait for the new day to try and unravel it all. What was so very different about closing your eyes in another bed and why not take advantage of the opportunity to wake up in your friend's house to keep the fun going for another day?
It all made such perfect sense when the sun was up. It did for me when I was a kid, too. But when the light began to fade, I could feel the draw of my house, my mom, my dad, my family and my home. I know the power. I felt it. It kept me from leaving home for my freshman year in college. The good news is that my son is thirteen years old, and while he has already stated his plans for going to school at Cal so that he can sleep at home, I no longer feel like that would be surrendering. It would be his choice.
It is strange for me to consider living half a continent away from my mother, older brother and the town in which I grew up. It never seemed a possibility. I never really broke the ties that bound me there. I still call my mother on a regular basis. Just to let her know that I am fine. And to tell her good night.