Every new beginning comes from some other beginning's end...

It's the end of another school year, and this one's a little bittersweet. To be a little dramatic, it's the end of my son’s childhood.

He’s graduating from high school this year. In 3 days, actually.

I won’t lie – it’s a miracle, almost, that he’s made it. That it’s actually going to happen was in doubt until late last week. But as of this moment, without his final exam grades entered, there are no failures this quarter. God willing and the creek don’t rise, my son will wear the purple and white of Phoenixville Area High School this Friday, and when he returns that stunning fashion statement, he will receive a piece of paper that says he’s ready to go to college.

Academically, that is.

It’s a huge step for me as a parent, and as a single parent for the last 10 years, to be able to say that it’s fine for him to take his leave and head off to the great white North (in the form of the Art Institute of Boston). Yes, he’s 18 years old. The age of majority in our great state. (And elsewhere, too, I suppose) He can pretty much do whatever he wants (as long as it’s legal) and not have to answer to me. He has a tattoo. (I did take him to get it, but still – further proof that he’s allowed to be an adult!) He spends more time out of the house than in, and according to our fine borough, he doesn’t have a curfew. He’s old enough to buy tobacco products, and apparently LOOKS old enough that he’s not often questioned.

It wasn’t that long ago that I was agonizing over whether he was old enough to come home on the school bus by himself and let himself into the apartment until I got home from work 2 hours later. And surely, it wasn’t THAT long ago that he spent his first (tearful, though he won't admit it!) night away from home with the Cub Scouts, was it?

How did that short, chubby, awkward, shy 10-year old child turn into this tall, fearless, handsome, funny, giving young man? The one with the omnipresent camera whose name is well known and often shouted out as we walk or drive through our town? The one who can still surprise me by offering his kid sister a super-warm, totally loving hug only 2 hours after they’ve been verbally sparring with such heat I was afraid my house would burn down? The one who drives me to distraction because he won’t take the trash out, but cleans his room without being asked? This young, eloquent man with the devil’s own smile who can make me laugh no matter how mad I am at him? When did this happen?

And why am I so sad about it? I did my job. He turned out the best possible person he could be, and it’s partially my fault. Nothing sad about it...except that he's not "my little boy" anymore.

CJ, I am so proud of you I can’t stand it, and when you walk in procession on Friday, no one there will be happier for you than I will be. I taught you to reach for your dreams, and you did – and now you’ll walk into the world as ready as I could make you – to live your life no longer a child, but always my baby.

I love you.