I got in an early 5 mile run before heading to the airport this morning. I almost traded in my run for some extra time on the couch with my coffee and the paper. Then, I reminded myself that I am responsible for me and I’m not going to make excuses or let myself off the hook. And, as is ALWAYS the case, I was glad I did it. Invigorated, energized.
I’m now waiting for my first born, Sam, to fly off across the country. Alone. Denver to D.C. to see my brother. The plane is still at the gate, but they told me to hang out until it left. Hell, I might just stay here all day people watching. Airports never disappoint in that department. Plus, there is always someone pitching a hissy fit about something (what do you mean my German Shepard can’t fit under the seat?) and it makes for good entertainment.
He’s on there somewhere
Sam may be 14 and fully capable of wiping his own ass, but he’s just a helpless child to me. Okay, that’s a bit dramatic. He’s quite mature and all that, but I might be having just a little trouble letting go. I have to remember, you can’t get to the other side of the pool unless you let go of the edge. Whatever that means.
Yes there are those of you who will say, “What’s the big deal, my kids have been flying alone since they were fetuses,” but I am a virgin at this sending-your-kid-solo thing and I just need a moment. He asked if I would cry when he walked down the jet way. I stoically shrugged and laughed as I shook my head “no”. When they called his name and took his boarding pass, he hugged me and walked away, ready for his adventure. I hoped he wouldn’t turn around and see me standing there, eyes filling with tears. He did turn around to give me one last wave. I don’t care if he thinks his mom is overly emotional. He already thinks I’m a dork for so many other reasons; we can just add this one to the list.
Here’s the thing. I know nothing will happen to him – I mean what’s he going to do at 35,000 feet except watch Pimp My Ride, make a pass at the flight attendant and drink a few too many Cokes? It’s more symbolic of him getting older and slowly edging away from home. This is exactly what he is supposed to be doing. In fact, I support his slow departure and despite my tears, I couldn’t be more proud of the young adult he is becoming.
And there he goes…
At what age did you first fly alone? I never got on an airplane until I was 12. I didn’t fly alone until I was 20. For real.
Have you sent your kids on solo flights yet? This is my first time, but I’m sure there will be many more to come.