The last summer #2

In the summer of ‘98, my 16-year-old son was still accumulating enough hours of required driving time before he could get his driver’s license. Next spring, he’ll put his high school diploma in the safety deposit box with ours.

In the summer of ‘98, we packed suitcases for our mother and son 3,000-mile trip out east. Next summer, we’ll be narrowing down what can be crammed into a dorm room.

In the summer of ’98, I got teary-eyed at times thinking of the future. Next spring and summer, I’ll have pockets stuffed with tissues for any sentimental emergency. Those old sirens and nose will be ablowing.

The summer of ’99 was one of new responsibilities for both of us, as I have relinquished some of the hold I’ve had on my son. I have to let him go out on his own more and pray that he’s learned all those important lessons of life well. At the same time, I have to be tougher and attach some new strings, though sometimes he stretches them further than a rubber band …