Commentary by Danielle Wilson
In a few short hours, Doo and I will be depositing our firstborn on the steps of his college dormitory. We’ll wish him well, dole out some hugs and kisses, and of course remind him to make good choices and do his best. The question is, we will drive away with tears in our eyes, mourning the end of our son’s childhood, or will we stop at the nearest bar and celebrate with tequila shots? I’m betting on the latter. Why? Historical precedence.
Though we’ve never sent a kid to college before, we have experienced four “first days” of kindergarten, four fifth-grade graduations and countless other academic milestones. And not once, with the exception of a fluke Chick-fil-A drive-thru incident last May, have I boo-hooed. For many Augusts, in fact, I guzzled mimosas with my cul-de-sac peeps to welcome back that beautiful yellow bus and toast our children as they climbed aboard. Going off to school was a magical moment for me when I was a stay-at-home mom, and I thanked Baby Jesus every day that my kids were old enough to leave me for six to eight hours.
I don’t think I will feel very different this afternoon. Our 18-year-old is ready to leave us, and quite frankly, we’re ready for him to go. We love him, but he’s in that weird split personality place where he’s both an adult and a teenager, at times independent and quite needy at others. It’s time for him to spread his wings and either fly or fall. Luckily for us, he’s chosen to take his first flight 90 minutes away.
Nope, I don’t predict any tears today. Peace out.