I can't believe this summer will mark the 10th anniversary of "the last summer." Ah, the memories I documented a decade ago …
The letting-go process has begun.
I didn’t want to. I fought it a long time, but can’t anymore.
Upon just completing his junior year of high school, my son hauled home all the costly information on senior pictures.
Senior pictures?
Not my baby. Not with instructions that the guys should shave as close to the photo shoot time as possible to avoid five o’clock shadows. Not my baby. He’s not even shaving yet. That mini-mustache is still cute ...
Sorry. “Cute” in reference to my 17-year-old son is not permitted in our household now. Yeah, but I can think it all I want. Cute, cute, cute ....
But seriously, during his junior year, I started mentally preparing myself for this past summer. It was kind of like giving birth again, only this time, this would be the first real summer of separation, physically and emotionally, but at least I didn’t have to be hospitalized this time. He now had a car to drive and was the recipient of numerous and regular reminders on responsibility and what driving a car really costs. He spent more time with his friends and liked going to the mall just for the heck of it, something I haven’t indulged in for years. He’s still receiving enough college mail to start his own institution of higher learning …
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