OnlySon is going for registration for Junior High.
OtherHalf is taking him.
I’m doing this for his own good, because we had The Talk.
And he wasn’t thrilled about it.
But this is going to be a good thing, right? Because everyone has to grow up, everyone gets older, moves forward, moves on, goes to the next level, the next step in their evolution as a person. Right? OtherHalf’s not so sure.
Well, we’ll see. I had another Talk with OtherHalf last night, about taking OnlySon to registration. Handed him the checkbook, with a strict admonition to “Get the lunch ticket, pay for any classes he needs to pay for, and that’s it. Only pay for what’s necessary, no yearbook, no t-shirts, no none of that.” We get bombarded for these types of things all year long, and yearbooks can be purchased later, down the road, if it’s something that we want to do. (They get more expensive every year, so we have to budget around the stupid thing!)
We talked about how OnlySon has issues with going to the basement by himself, and has to race up the stairs to get away from the “dark”. How he’s unsure of going places by himself, without someone following along. And I replied with “Well, he doesn’t get to do half the stuff we did at his age, so why wouldn’t he be scared of things he doesn’t understand? We have to let him do some of these things, or he’ll never learn how.”
I love my OtherHalf. I do. But there are times, when he talks about how he was “never afraid” as a kid, that make me want to smack him on the back of his head.
You see, OtherHalf is half Greek, half German-Irish. He is extremely protective of OnlySon, and won’t even let him go to the bathroom in Wal-mart without watching him walk all the way there, or go to the neighbor’s house behind us, without walking him around the block. This is erring on the side of super-caution, and has contributed to the problem of OnlySon being afraid of just about everything.
So, I’m making them go to junior high registration together. I’ve been through this stage twice before with the girls, and it’s His turn. I’ll be there, watching, ready to spot them both, should they falter and fumble. They’re lucky, I didn’t have anyone to catch me when I did this with the others. I can steer them back, without being obnoxious about it.
But- It’s his turn to watch his child struggle to stretch his wings, and maybe fall on his nose once or twice. It’s his turn to watch this same child leap from the nest on his first flight, catching the wind beneath his wingtips and taking those first forays into the wilds of young-adulthood. It’s his turn to see this child begin to become an independent, strong, capable person.
It’s his turn to have tears in his eyes as he pulls out of the parking lot, watching his son disappear into the jungle of junior high.
Cause I’ve been there, and I know he’ll do fine. My last baby bird is ready for wings. Now, OtherHalf has to see that he needs to hand them over, and let the boy fly.