Today’s the day. We’re taking our son to UCF. There will be bleakness. This day has been hurtling toward us since he was born. It was once a distant meteor, invisible to the naked heart but as sure as shit as any astronomical certainty: its course for a direct hit was also graphed the day he was born, along with a day of impact as precise as the college’s firmly anal move-in appointment day, down to the hour: 3:30 p.m. at the Hercules dorm complex in our case, on that college campus oddly mapped in Homerphilia on Orlando’s periphery.
He’s Hercules, anyway. We’re just mr and mrs Prometheus, post-fire, ready for eternal torment.
Nothing we could do—nothing we should do: parenting is also preparing for 18 years for the great extinction, then submitting on the appointed day—and paying for it to boot. We are the dinosaurs. We have to be wiped out so our children can have their own Cambrian explosions. (Anachronistic, I know: the Cambrian came first, Jurassic second. But bugger off, why don’t you: dinosaurs are not known for brain capacity.)
That we’ve been through an extinction before—with our daughter, who has since pummeled us with many more vengeful meteors—doesn’t improve things. It certainly didn’t prepare us anymore than did the odd cancers we picked up along the way. It just eroded more protective crust. We’re merely older, more cratered with age spots, our immune systems as diminished as our illusions. We cover it all up with b2 vitamins and pride in our children’s accomplishments past and, we hope, future.
Even as I write my beloved if too pious atheist son is at St. Thomas Episcopal glorying the Sunday congregation with his violin, a few hours after sharing the stage with that decidedly non-Satanic ELO tribute band at the auditorium, a few weeks from refusing to march with his FPC graduating class, because that’s how he is, a militant non-conformist attempting to break out of this prison house of conformism.
He’s been trying to hide his emancipation high from us. It’s obvious he can’t wait to go, though he had bigger designs than UCF. He got in at several out-of-state universities he wanted, even in his New York City nirvanah. But we couldn’t pay. We failed him. We’re in that donut-holed income bracket, nowhere rich enough to afford more than in-state tuition, no longer poor enough to attract FASFA mercy. And we don’t believe in graduating our children with a mortgage’s worth of debt.
Lucky for our daughter, a decade ago our barebones tax returns could yield bigger financial aid offers. That’s what had enabled her full, debt-free ride at the $60,000-a-year insanity of her choice (well, that and her better SAT scores). The ride took her 1,200 miles away, then paid off well enough to push that to 2,100 miles as she knotted up her own family on top of her successes, each mile another kiloton of blast zone for us, another acre of Eden for her: we could be Kuiper belt trash 4 billion miles away for all she cares. But she’s doing well, and we’ll be a lot further than Kuiper’s zip codes soon enough, so what does it matter? The eagle wasn’t interested in Prometheus’s sob story as it clawed his liver à la king.
My son and I haven’t had the benefits of a fractious relationship. We haven’t known a day of warfare. Unusual for a pair of Lebanese-blooded males, one more stubborn than the other, one more hotheaded than the other. At best we’ve had rare and forgettable skirmishes. But I knew the game was over when he first beat me at chess, roughly in his eighth year, after I had beaten him about 900 straight times, never once pulling so much as a pawn. My only lesson to him in 18 years had been: “figure it out.” He had. The rest was just countdown. That’s how we never went easy on him, treating him as an equal in most regards from day one. It isn’t as if he won’t have to do the same with us when Cheryl and I are back in diapers soon, though he has some work to do learning his streetsmarts. He can handle Sylvia Plath. I’m not sure he knows how to open a can of tuna. Clearly, he has his priorities straight.
But closeness has a price. I was hoping that in these last months we’d get into the kind of fights psychologists recognize (recommend?) as the natural antibody of impending separation, to ease the eventual shock. We had no such luck. I tried. I failed at that, too. And Cheryl and I picked the worst time to cut back on tripels.
So it is unforgiving when a day like today finally happens, and nothing like the closeness we’ve known for 18 years–18 and a half, the little shit reminded me just six days ago–will happen again. Sure we’ll remain close, and as a lawyer friend reminded me recently (I need help litigating god’s indifference) it’s not the old days of smoke signals, snail mail and the “long distance call,” that phrase from not so long ago that billed households with terror. But zillion-apped closeness is not the same, and we all know it. Remembering a concert, even replaying it, is not living it, and at 3:30 p.m. today the fat lady–excuse me, the plus-size lady–will finally sing.
What will I do? I’ll do what Michael Lambert did when he said goodbye to his daughter at college. He and I had just walked out of a sentencing hearing at the courthouse, where he’d managed to minimize the punishment of an idiot, very young ex-cop, in part by drawing on his own wisdom as a father. We started talking about life’s curveballs, the there-but-for-the-grace-of-god business we so easily forget or replace with distasteful self-pity, about our luck, and finally about what older men at twilight talk about: our children. Then this fearsome lawyer, one of the best in the region, this veteran of untold criminal trials who’s represented a lot worse than the Raskolnikovs of our society, told me how all he could do was sob when he said goodbye to his child when he dropped her off.
It’s not really what I’ll do. It’s what I’ve been doing, and for almost as long as that meteor began to be visible on wings of fugitive time. At 3:30 today, Luka, who’s grown a little since that column sig was taken many years ago, will no longer be hanging over my shoulder. Time’s up.
Impact.
Pierre Tristam is FlaglerLive’s editor.
Chris Gollon says
Poignantly written. Mine and Eryn’s thoughts are with you and Cheryl as you navigate a difficult, but undoubtedly proud and rewarding moment as parents. Send him off in grace.
Steve O says
He will be fine. He will figure it out, just as you and his mother will have to do. It’s this way for all species. They are designed to fly from the nest.
Painful part of parenting says
I don’t know that there is any way to prepare for that day. This first one was particularly traumatizing for me. I cried for about 6 months, maybe even longer. He wasn’t far; Daytona beach in fact. But his childhood was gone. His room was empty. I no longer knew if he was safe 24 hours a day. Had I prepared him enough? Is he sad or hurting? I still miss him and my 2nd child terribly. My 3rd child goes off to NYC this fall and my home will be empty. Just me and hubby. I’m certainly not ready.
Thank you for sharing your story and letting us know we are not alone.
Concerned Citizen says
I wish him well on his endeavors. I know letting them go is hard. But it’s a whole new chapter for the both of you.
My big departure day was many years ago leaving to enlist in the Airforce. I can remember my mom and dad dropping me off at the recruiters office in preperation to go to MEPS. Both parents were prior service and I think Mom took it the hardest. Dad seemed more proud than anything. For me that was the longest 8 weeks from family.
He will have an enjoyable experience hopefully. And you all will find fun things to do while he is gone. I went into the service in the late 80s. Well before the advent of smart technology. At least it is easier to stay connected. I can remember having to dial collect. !! LOL.
R. S. says
There are still many more years of vicarious pleasures in their successes and vicarious torment in their failures ahead of you, Pierre. I speak of experience. Take heart!
Ld says
Reminds me of suddenly Learning that my son who was in the army was deploying in a couple of days for Iraq. Driving almost nonstop Fl to NY hoping to see him. Loading my car with his gear for combat zone, watching him stagger off under the weight of it all to join others in his unit mustering. Pulling over many times unable to see for tears and praying I would see him again. Feeling helpless to prevent the inevitable. You are right about life and curveballs and gut wrenching knowledge that your children will launch and pray for their safety. Your son sounds very talented.
Laurel says
Pierre: You didn’t fail in any way, you and your wife did what parents are supposed to do and that’s to send the baby bird out of his/her nest. My hubby plays the song “When You’re My Age” by Lori McKenna over the phone to his 40 something year old daughter. Tell Alexa to play it, that’ll floor you both. You’ll be playing it over the phone to your babies years from now!
Congratulations to you all!
Steve says
No one said it would be easy Pal. Let him fly He’ll be back better than ever. It’s the Natural Order of things. You pointed your Son in the right direction now it’s his turn. Congratulations.!
“Every little thing gonna be alright”-B.Marley
bob says
smile and the world smiles with you
Jane E K says
Luka will be fine, and so will you Pierre and your wife. It’s hard but I know you’re going to make it! Best of luck to your son.
Kathleen Brady says
As always, I treasure your writing. All I have to offer in return is a hug to you and Cheryl. Congratulations on a successful launch.
YankeeExPat says
Be Proud Pierre !
Be Proud Mrs. Prometheus !
Gina Weiss says
Pierre Tristam: Did you ever hear people say, “well this is what we want them to do,” but we are never really ready when that time comes. My spouse and I know the feeling well when it was time for us to leave our daughter as the new students were asked by the senior students as part of their orientation to make a circle and I said to my spouse now is the time for us to go while she was involved with her orientation, I will never forget the loving bittersweet look on her face when she turned her head to look back upon us as we left quietly. With that I would like to congratulate your son on all of his achievements along with the proud parents.
Jane Gentile-Youd says
Your efforts will be rewarded. Luka is blessed and so are you and Cheryl. You’ll see
marlee says
We had 2 at once leave at the same time (twins)…and then…. the dog died and then we moved to Florida!
“Yin and yang”
Brain Washed says
One can only hope he now can think for himself and become a Conservative.
Michael Cocchiola says
I feared my two daughters – and more recently my granddaughter – would be unprepared for a very tough world because Dee and I unreservedly loved and spoiled them so thoroughly. Letting go was hard, But, I need not have worried. They all grew into fine, smart, caring, independent, and thankfully, progressive women.
They are all now busily teaching us how to work our way through the tough and technically complex world in which they thrive. What goes around comes around.
Damien says
I remember Sitting w/ my daughter first row at a play @ FPC and your boy was violinist in the orchestra pit right in front of me, I saw his last name on the playbill and asked if you were related to Pierre @ Flagler Live he was like thats my Dad! Very talented musician we enjoyed the play a lot.
Gina Weiss says
Brain washed: Disgusting comment indeed, if being a conservative means being mean, unkind and narrowminded we will happily pass on that.
JimBob says
You mean like Matt Gaetz or Joe Mullins?
Gina Weiss says
JimBob: Brain washed is a walking talking oxymoron, thinking for oneself and becoming a conservative all in one sentence is all we had to hear from his/her once again lurking in the shadows hiding behind a false identity. A coward with no empathy!
Bill says
Nice to have this forum to wax poetically about your children, but for darn sakes its only college and 3 hours away.
Man up. Its not as if he were sent off to war; drafted as many of us were or enlisted .
In the words of one of your often defended politician, come on man!
Ken says
Time does fly. We met years ago at a Tea-party Rally. You carried your son on your shoulders and had a camera slung around your neck.
Pierre Tristam says
Actually it’s only 75 minutes away and the distance isn’t the thing. But you’re right. Since we’re to measure everything by going from zero immediately to armed conflict, with anything short of that requiring nothing more than “manning up,” I imagine the rest of us poor shmucky civilians should just contend with it all like good little Spartans and pass the testosterone. I’m surprised you didn;t suggest I redirect my wax at the gun range.
Gina Weiss says
Pierre Tristam: Don’t even bother wasting another breathe on these characters. Such a beautiful article which I’m sure a majority of logical level headed people relates to and enjoyed no matter what our differences may be.These individuals missed out on the innocence and pure essence of your blog and in their own warped way of thinking once again politicized it into their own meaning. Of course our hearts break as parents whose loved ones who were once sent off to war, enlisted or were drafted, but this is a different issue. Did they even understand the article is my question and how you so ingeniously compared Greek Mythology and the extinction of dinosaurs to our existance as humans. And furthermore you certainly earned your well educated stripes as a journalist, so wax on Pierre, we do appreciate you.
Janet Sullivan says
Awww, such a hard transition, especially when you really LIKE each other. And I guarantee his new friends are learning all about how great his upbringing was and how loving his family is and he will bring them home on a week-end or you and Cheryl will drive to Orlando and take Luka and his new friends to dinner and they will see for themselves. (Yes, Dad, you will always pay.) And you will be relieved that he’s made such good choices in his new friends. And you will settle down a bit… for you will know that he now belongs to a tribe who he loves and who loves him, too. I think that will bring you a lot of peace. Plan to meet his new tribe in a month. Hugs to both you and Cheryl.
Celia Pugliese says
Pierre, that very memoir of Ken above; “you carying your camera around your neck and your gifted son in your shoulders” is what shows the loving excellent caring father that now is hurting over his son taking fly and leaving the home. Is life that passes so fast. I remember when we drove our daughter to Rutgers campus and I had a nut on my throat and and pain in my chest. My baby will be there and without us around? Our long trip to receive our son from his Tiger cruise in fanfare arrival at Mayport Naval Base teary with joy (as he was in desert storm deployment) displaying a large Welcome Home Fabian!. Bittersweet memories of the permanent separation to be exchanged by sporadic but heartfelt joyfull visits. Is life Pierre and Cheryl and we have to accept what we can’t change and switch to enjoy those visits to the fullest. You both are very loving parents and will be rewarded with two excellent loving young citizens that like their father and mom will learn to love our democracy, freedom and the arts!
Tom Hanson says
Congratulations to you and Cheryl on raising Luka to be who he is. He carries forward with him all the knowledge from his exceptional upbringing and preparatory experiences you two have imparted upon him, and we are the richer for that. He’ll be fine, you’ll be fine, and life’s new journeys will continue to bring fulfilled meaning. Trust that he and you two will build upon the bonds that transcend your family ties and always seek comfort in the shared good times ahead…give or take discussions of personal-confessional Plath, modern existentialism or culinary experiments with tuna noodle casserole.
Been There says
Such a beautiful tribute to family and the success of your son. Wishing him his heart’s greatest desires and joy. Congratulations! Remember, our children only come to us on loan.
Geezer says
Congratulations on producing such a fine young citizen!
Luka sure comes from good stock—expect excellence…
CONGRATULATIONS TO LUKA!
What Else Is New says
Once again, Pierre Tristam, you have touched our hearts and this time with lovely poignant thoughts you and Cheryl share in seeing brilliant and talented Luca off to school. Where did the years go? Keep that sweet picture of Luca at the top of your page. No matter how old one’s children, one always sees them as little ones. Sadie and Luca will be fine. You and Cheryl will be fine. Keep close those memories, yet enjoy your empty nest while finding time for yourselves. Peace
celia pugliese says
Our children are really not ours, but the children of the world! Pierre and Cheryl is time to seat back relax and see the fruit of your labor.