Letting go

 

My only child will be a senior in high school this fall, and I know I’m supposed to be freaking out about it.

Weighted down by melancholy at the thought that he’s entering this final chapter of his childhood.

But I’ll let you in on a secret.

I’m not sad at all.

I relish the thought about what’s coming. Senior year? Bring it on.

Does that make me a bad mom?

In many ways, my son is a quintessential only child. He’s always had our family’s undivided attention. He craves solo time. He’s independent (to a fault, sometimes. Ask for help? What does that mean?!). He’s traveled, had experiences beyond those of his small Midwestern town. He’s gone snowboarding, mountain biking, rock climbing and river rafting. He’s been to museums and concerts and Broadway plays. Eaten a street pretzel in Times Square and a hot dog in Central Park. Climbed the steps of the Lincoln Memorial. Cruised the Louisiana bayou on an airboat and strolled the French Quarter while feasting on a surgary beignet. Swam in the warm waters off Cancun, hiked through the Smoky Mountains and rode the Ferris wheel at Chicago’s Navy Pier.

He’s just turned 17 years old, and he’s already been more places than most.

But I know he has a long way to go.

Perhaps that’s why this upcoming year doesn’t fill me with dread. It’s more about the excitement of a new beginning rather than focusing on the lasts. The last First Day of School. The last yearbook photo. The last soccer game. The last Last Day of School. Graduation.

I love my independent kid. He’s mature for his age. He has no interest in high school drama or cliques or popularity. He’s stubborn. He’s not a joiner. You won’t find him running for student council or dividing his time among a multitude of clubs just because it looks good on a college application. 

I used to fight with him about it. Plead with him to consider being more active in school. Because that’s what society has taught us, right? I went to college. I know the drill. Until I finally realized that forcing him to make life decisions in high school based on how it would look on a college application was disingenuous. It was fake. And my kid is anything but fake. He has a couple of activities to which he gives his heart and soul and he’s content.

He’s about the most even-keeled kid you’ll find. No big Ups. No big Downs. Steady. “You know Gabe,” we tell people. “He doesn’t get too excited or too upset about much of anything. He’s just…Gabe.”

So maybe this year is about me taking a page from his book. No big Ups. No big Downs. Just enjoy things as they unfold. Him deciding what his next step will be. Will he stick to his chosen college being “anywhere but the Midwest” or will he take a gap year? Will he study engineering or finance like he says or will he explore something completely different?

Perhaps the sadness will begin to creep in as the school year progresses. It’s possible. But unlike parents of multiple kids, my husband and I have already begun the process of letting go. It happens each time our son leaves the house. With no siblings to provide a distraction, we’re often left to entertain ourselves. We’re already used to the house being quiet.

My kid isn’t perfect. He’ll make mistakes. A lot of them. Some will teach him a good lesson. Others will knock him on his ass. And that’s OK. As long as he remembers there are people who love him, who support him, I think he’ll be just fine.

And so will I.