Pairing

 Hey, my son is going to be twenty-seven soon. Last year he celebrated by being forcibly removed from our insurance. Not by us, his parents, mind you. It was the state that had their wicked hand in that one. But it signified the way in which adulthood is thrust upon us. 

I say this with full knowledge and recognition of the two years he spent living in our basement after college and during the height of COVID. We were not going to shove him out of the nest just to prove a point. We are always pleased and happy to have him drop by from his busy grownup life when he has a few spare minutes.

But we understand that the day to day affairs of his life are just that: his life. When he started buying his own groceries, we had to take a step back and hope that in addition to his regular stops at the meat counter that he would also remember to pick up a little produce to go along with all that carefully prepared beef. 

And we also wait patiently for anything that feels or sounds like an update on his relationship status. More than anything else, I suspect that he would be happy to have his parents' tacit approval of any and all partners he may or may not entertain. We don't get a vote in this. We know this from experience. Our son's private life is called that for a reason: it's private. 

Nevertheless, I found myself wondering as he continues to wander toward those mile markers that defined my own life like turning thirty, would I be relieved and enthusiastic about any coupling in which he might find himself? How could any human hope to be good enough to pass muster? And simultaneously, how could I not have anything but love and respect for anyone he deigned to be worthy of his attention? 

I can remember the warm reception all my friends got when I brought them home to meet my parents, and when I finally found one I wanted to marry, they seemed to be as relieved as they were happy. This might have been because they didn't see me pairing off with any great number of potential mates. I was not one of the preeminent daters of the past century. 

And neither, it would seem, is my son. At least that is the way I understand it from out here in the reserved seating. What goes on in the mosh pit is another matter for the younger set to settle. But I do look forward to meeting the person one of my favorite persons chooses to grow old with. Older, that is.