Leaving Home

perfection his portion of our Holy Scripture, thereby entering Jewish adulthood. Then too, I noted a lump in my throat and a tug at my heart. I remembered the times we spent alone and the times we shared with the rest of the family, and I was very proud of him. Todd was my quiet, gentle, sensitive, skeptical, shy, and intelligent, computer wizard son. He had survived his mother's departure from our lives when he was ten years old, and despite his shyness and lack of athletic prowess, survived the rigors of adolescence. I knew it was time to go. The car was packed and Todd was ready. It was I who lingered and who was procrastinating. I wanted to have one more conversation with my son, one more attempt to tell him all he'd ever need to know about life and the real world. I wanted to prepare him for college life, and try and help him avoid mistakes I had made at that time in my life. But as I sat at the edge of my bed and he on the edge of his chair opposite me in my bedroom that afternoon in August, I could not speak. Instead, I cried. Friends and family will tell you I cry easily, and while that is true, this was one of those cries which come from deep within. My understanding son sat quietly knowing he could do nothing and patiently waited until I finished. Finally, I said I was ready and without saying another word, we left our house and got into the car. Now, lest you think I was taking my son to the Nashville Airport to have him fly to his new environment across the country, or that I was driving him to his destination hours away from home, let me explain that I was not. I was merely driving him to his dormitory six miles from my home and less than 100 yards from my office. You see, I was taking my son to Vanderbilt University to begin the first four years of his college education. Driving home alone that evening and in a pensive mood, I remembered friends recall their emotions as they took their children to school or sent them off for four weeks of summer camp for the first time. They were similar to mine that day and so I wondered if it really was just the separation from our children that brought forth so many inner feelings. These same friends had proclaimed how wonderful it would be to get away from the kids for a while. I suppose many other parents driving home that day were also feeling some of the same emotions as I. Irealized this really had little to do with my son; it had everything to do with me. I wasn't afraid for my son. I was afraid for myself. It was a time of passage for me. A time to end one segment of my life and move on to another. My son's going to college or all those other rites of passage parents have to deal with symbolize change and an end from a life that is well known and comfortable, to one which is unknown and somewhat frightening. How would I spend my day when there were no children to cook for and feed, to entertain or teach. What or who would take their place in my life? Doesn't all this really mean I am getting a little older, not needed quite so much anymore? Todd has a younger brother, Tommy, and a sister, Catherine, so I was not so lonely when he left after all, and my life really didn't change much. I knew I would go through this again with Tommy's departure the following year. Only next time, there would be a little more understanding for what I was feeling. I would understand that Tommy, and eventually Catherine, like Todd, would leave home and never really return except for the usual forays children make after they move out and that they and I would be the better for it, for it proves we are luckily alive, changing and growing. After all, that's what life is all about. The thing called that we see is all around us and people and see what they are up 2