Setting the eagle free; the eldest child heads off to college

I haven't contributed any posts in months, mainly because I wasn't sure what to write about, and don't want to bore people with mindless drivel.  But last month my eldest child headed off for college, and I feel like it's time to sort out for myself what the heck just happened.

Recently I read an excellent Star Tribune piece by a father whose daughter just started college, and what that meant for him.  It really summed up the parental role -- doing that to the best of your ability, and then being willing to step back and "set your eagle free."  He didn't use that metaphor, but basically, you have an 18-year period where you are more involved on a day-to-day basis, and then at some point, you stop the constant coaching and nagging and taking care of their day-to-day affairs, and say, "Ok, now you do all of that.  I hope you were paying attention."

As parents, I think we get lulled into thinking our kids will be kids forever.  After all, we have 18 years to raise them.  Tons of time, right?  So I think we adopt "parental habits," or ways of relating to them, and then when the kids want to strike out on their own, those habits no longer appropriate and we have to regroup.

Tiernan being my first, he is the one who has taught me the most about being a parent.  My "chickens started coming home to roost" when I would get feedback from teachers about his role in bringing his classmates together to work as a team.  While I cannot take all of the credit, -- he has had a number of remarkable mentors, both inside and outside of the family -- it was direct feedback that all of the time I spent working with him and teaching him what I knew was having an effect not only on him but on other lives he was touching.  I don't think the next statement can come off as anything but sappy and self-satisfied, but here it goes anyway:  It is splendidly gratifying to see this happen!  I didn't coach anyone to say those things about him; it's just what I heard and observed happening at his school community, the neighborhood and elsewhere.

During Tiernan's last summer at home, as he got ready to "take flight" for his college dorm room, knowing his days at home were numbered made me realize that my parenting job -- for the early years -- was ending.  The conversations we had were more thoughtful, and he began asking more pointed questions about choices I had made and was making about my own career and life path.  I tried to answer him candidly, as I felt that I had lacked mentorship in my teens, with the parent I lived with working full time and constantly harried, and an alienated relationship with the other one.

The day before Tiernan left for college, as we sat down for dinner, I mused, "This will be your last dinner at home with the family."  Never again will the dynamic be quite the same; the banter will change without his funny quips, intense questioning and deadpan expressions.

The following day we drove Tiernan 100 miles to his college on the prairie and  moved him in to his brand-new, LEED-certified dorm room.  We moved in all of his stuff while he checked in, and I hooked up his computer, and David made up his bunk bed -- final caring gestures.  To Tiernan's credit, he did not scold us for lingering and fussing over where all of his stuff would be placed.  He even restrained himself from rolling his eyes at our enthusiastic introduction to his roommates!

Finally, it was time for David, me and Tiernan's two little sisters to pile back into the car and drive back to Minneapolis.  We each gave him a hug, and Tiernan even kneeled down on the floor to make it easier for his littlest sister to hug him.  "This is it," I thought.  I was the last one out the door, and Tiernan stood in his doorway and watched as I walked down the hallway.  I knew he would see my face in profile as I turned the corner to walk outside, and I was determined not to reveal a sad grimace.

As we drove alongside the cornfields and ponds, and the sky darkened into night, the "pile of bricks" finally hit me in the chest:  I realized he was gone.  He will most likely come back and visit, and might even stay with us over the summers, but we have just closed the door on the growing-up years and now the eagle is set free.  I hope we have taught you well, Tiernan.  Now we will stand back watch your flight trajectory, and we will rejoice when we see you soar.