I'm Not Ready

A short time ago — four, or at most five months, maybe — I was at my parents' house with my family. My father was having a hard time with some electronic device. It might have been the VCR, or maybe just the remote control. Anyway, in a moment of snark, I said, "Do you want me to find a 5-year-old to show you how to operate that?" That was funny, of course, because my 5-year-old son was sitting in the next room. I had a 5-year-old right at hand. And I hoped I would forever.

That five-year-old turned 18 years of age today. In nine months he will leave my home to seek his training and make his own life and fortune.

I am not ready. In fact, I'm scared out of my mind. Make it stop. But first, go wish him a happy birthday. He's a good young man, and I love him.