Wingman

My wingman just left…Again. The calendar shows that he first left me 15 months ago. I knew he was leaving and felt well prepared. It turns out I wasn’t. After 18 years at my side, he flew the coop to begin his journey. At the ripe old age of 52, I find myself living alone with my wife and daughter. I say alone because all of a sudden I live with two people from a different planet, perhaps even a different galaxy. We speak different languages and share wildly different customs. How could this be? The 3 of us have lived in the same house for almost 2 decades and now it feels like I have 2 roommates. I had given zero thought to what our new family dynamic might look like.

When my son departed for college last fall, I knew it would mark a huge transition. I’d be sad and feel a sense of loss. I’d miss his sense of humor. I’d miss watching sports together. I’d miss hanging out. I’d miss the regular ass-kickings in hoops, all while he mocked my diminishing skills. Mostly, I would just miss having my wingman at my side. Whenever his sister or mother said something that drove us crazy, we shared a quiet bond. 99.7% of the time we were aligned. Sometimes it was a smile. Sometimes it was an eye roll. Often we laughed. Their insanity was acknowledged, lightly ridiculed and we moved on, secure in our manhood (ie. #knuckleheads). I had no clue then that he was leaving me alone in a half-empty nest full of estrogen. 

Looking back now it’s all quite ironic. It’s ironic because when my son’s tenure at home ended we were at war. Constant war. We battled each other over anything and everything. Big or small, it didn’t matter. Combat was our common language. He had the world figured out and knew everything. I was the dinosaur that knew nothing. I pleaded for relevance. He fought for independence. The respect was long gone. But was it respect or control I sought? I didn't have a plan or the wisdom to let go. My intentions came from a place of love but a college-bound teen could never receive such advice. More importantly, he had no desire for my counsel. He was busy living his own life. He had graduated from being a teen and was now a young man. My opinions no longer offered value. Instead, they provided him the perfect opposition. He resisted with great effort. 

When he recently came home for Winter Break, it didn’t matter that he was under our roof again. He comes and goes as he pleases. Our rules don’t apply anymore. His room remains filthy but happily, that ship has sailed and Dad no longer cares. Our son is now a visitor and moving forward he always will be. Our door will always be open and he will forever be welcome with open arms. But things will be different. It’s just how these transitions evolve. These past 2 weeks gave me a chance to try a new approach. So far the results have been mixed. Happily, we are no longer at war. There have been moments of connection and happiness but the tension is still present. Slowly, very slowly, I am learning that this is okay. These changeovers take time and don’t happen overnight. My lack of patience is not helping but nobody ever said Dad was perfect. Honestly, most of my frustration comes from a feeling that I have lost my way. For the first time, I’m unsure of how to interact with my son. I’m working hard not to provide unsolicited advice or bark out meaningless “orders”. I’m consciously letting him initiate the conversation and lead the way. The silence should not upset me. His absence shouldn’t upset me either. He has other priorities. And deep down, there is an unspoken understanding. We both know that Dad will always be there for him.

Looking back on our last year under the same roof, I wish I could have a do-over. I’d talk less and listen more. I’d bite my tongue and take more deep breaths. I’d pick my spots more carefully and avoid the scorched earth approach I often chose. I would give anything to have a second chance at sending him off to college.  As he continues moving forward, I need to stop looking back. He’s found his path. I need to find a new path that moves me forward. A path that doesn’t revolve around him.

I’m pleased to report that this all ends happily. He is safely back at the Sigma Chi house in Eugene. He left a day early at 9 am so he could celebrate a brother’s 20th birthday. During his 16-day visit, he was up before 10 am maybe once or twice. Christmas doesn’t count. But on departure day, on the road back to independence, he was up early, showered and ready to roll. That is fantastic. That’s exactly the way it should be. Notwithstanding our uneven transition, I’m extremely proud of my son. He has grown tremendously over these past 15 months. He’s worked hard at school and his grades improved from Freshman year. He has a diverse group of friends and engages in many collegiate endeavors. He even does his laundry now. Mom can’t even touch it! He also got a part-time job over the holidays. Best of all, a year and a half into college his younger sister is still his best friend. That is awesome.

The transition from high school to college has been a resounding success. He’s maturing and growing and what more could a parent wish for. 

FYI, next time please let Dad take you to the Rose Bowl!