Offhand, I don’t know exactly how long I’ve been doing this column for, but I know it’s been many years. As my oldest started high school in September, it made me stop and think for a moment about how much writing this column has helped me kinda figure things out along the way. I’ll stress the “kinda” there, because, I mean, it’s also probably sort of a horrible documentation of some missteps I’ve made, but I’m not going back to cross-reference that.
Not that it matters. The missteps are part of it all, and it’s something I’ve always stressed here in these pages. We all make mistakes, we’re all kinda winging it and you can’t really prepare for what’s next.
And what’s next for me suddenly feels big: oldest in high school; middle kid in middle school; youngest, well, just kinda doing his thing, being 3. And we made it. We’re not at the end, there’s never really an end, but we’re at a point where I can sit back and take stock for a second and just say, wow, we made it this far.
And you made it this far, too.
Of course, things are just beginning: high school, good god. I remember high school—sort of. It was the best of times and it was most certainly the worst of times. I feel like I can relate more to my kids than my parents were able to relate to me at the time, but that’s the great generational delusion, isn’t it? I may feel like I’m still 15 at heart, but I’m a million years old in my daughter’s eyes.
It’s a heartbreaking revelation but it’s the nature of things, just one more rude awakening on a path marked with countless rude awakenings, sharp left turns, detours I had no idea were going to exist, ups and downs as dramatic and soul-wrenching as tears at an elementary-school track meet, which I recently had the heartbreaking horror of witnessing first-hand.
So I try to push down that bitter pill (beer helps) and realize that, yeah, I’m not 15 anymore, thankfully. And yes, I am indeed a million years old, as my greying beard, exhausted expression and left hand reaching around and inexplicably grabbing my lower back can attest. I’m a million years old, I’m constantly in three places at once, man, I’ve gotta be honest with you: I’m barely holding on some days here.
But the fact that suddenly we’re talking middle school, suddenly we’re talking high school, and, yeah, our little guy just being 3, makes me realize, I’m actually in the thick of things right now. It’ll change, it’ll ebb and flow, forever—you never stop being a parent, after all—but this is probably one of the busiest eras I’ll experience. Our calendar pockmarked and destroyed with various appointments proves that, our annihilated social lives, the twitching eyelids (beer helps), it all conspires to remind me that I’m a million years old, I’m fumbling, I’m in the thick of things and I’m making it work.
And you’re making it work, too.
And even though it’s not the ending—people always wait until the ending to say these things—let me say it right now, here in the middle: Thanks to all the readers who have stopped me on the sidewalk, on the schoolyard, in restaurants along the way to say they read the column. It’s somehow reassuring to know these missives don’t just go out into the void unread; it’s nice to know you’re out there.
This isn’t the ending, it’s just a pause to say it’s really appreciated, and to remind you that we’re all fumbling along the way, and we’re all fumbling together.
So, thanks for reading. Stop and say hello if you see me fumbling through the high school halls this fall, eyes twitching, beard seemingly getting saltier by the second, trying to enjoy every minute of it all, the ups and the downs, and everything in the middle, too.
