Tuesday, March 17, 2009

Each and every time my son leaves, I tell myself not to get upset, not to tear up, and to think ahead to the next visit, instead of reacting to the one that's just been completed. I actually had gotten it down to a science. I would make sure that both of us were laughing when we separated, and I'd let the memory of his laughter carry me through, and then by the time that memory faded, I would be fine. But when you drop your son off at the airport, and then an airline employee takes over for you when you can legally walk no further, and you watch both the employee and your son walk towards the plane, there's no smiling there. There's no laughter. There's part frustration that you can't see your son all the way through, and then there is a greater degree of sadness that this boy that you've created and loved closely, but mostly from afar for 11 years, is now leaving again..So after my son walked down the ramp towards the plane, I found a nearby gate with a seat near the window, I pulled my hat down, and once again, I cried. I didn't even try to fight the tears this time...

However, those tears quickly turned to anger and impatience. He boarded at 5:25, and he was supposed to leave at 5:55, but the sat at the gate until almost 6:30. Apparently there was a microphone malfunction in the pilot's cabin, and it took awhile to fix. I must have bugged the United staff at least 45 times in 30 minutes, asking them what was going on. Finally, at around 6:35, the plane with my beloved son it took off, and I left and embarked on that long 30-45 ride back to my apt. It was weird not have him in the car, or in the apt, but the sad reality is, in a few days I'll get "used" to it again, and I'll put all my hopes into the next visit. That's how these things go. Fortunately for me, the emotional pendulum will swing back in my favor, since my lady's birthday is tomorrow and the day after that the NCAA tournament starts..speaking of the tournament, if you scroll down you will see the information needed for you to join my little bracket challenge. My picks were done by my son, so surely you don't want an 11 year old to beat that ass do you?

Gettin Up - Q-tip

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