A Bubble Off Plumb

By the time this appears in print, my youngest child will have enlisted in the U.S. Navy. I am not quite sure how I feel about that. He’s my baby. He’s not even old enough to vote.

I am feeling, I am sure, what every military parent feels, has felt since the Revolution. I’m proud he wants to serve his country and protect it. I am glad he has adopted our values and loves America and her Constitution. It pleases me he has decided to do this and figure out what he wants to do before accumulating a boatload of student debt. And I know he may make a career of the service.

I’m worried. What if he is sent into harm’s way? What if he is the victim of violence because he wears the uniform? What if he is injured by accident or intent, the price of a military action or a maneuver gone wrong? What if he is stationed far away and can’t or doesn’t come home in three or four years?

Mostly I am selfish and grieving that I will miss seeing him change and grow into the smart, confident, self-possessed young man I see glimpses of already. That is what breaks my heart, the one that is so proud it could explode.

The thing about parenting is, if done right, we put ourselves out of business. When a child is young, you teach them and guide them and as they grow, they learn right from wrong, whose advise and counsel to heed and whose to ignore. They learn consequences from bad choices and to take pride in a job well done. As time passes, they need us less and less, except to help find the occasional stray sock or to borrow the car.

Like a fledgling, eventually they flounder out of the nest, leaving it empty and in need of a good cleaning. With any luck, when they visit, they are still on that trajectory set early in life, surpassing even our wildest parental dreams. And if we did the job correctly, they leave again.

Maybe one day he will return for good, settle down nearby for us to enjoy as an adult. Maybe he won’t.

Right now I’m hanging on to these last few bittersweet days of having my child home, safe under our roof, until he spreads his wings and sails away.

Connie Burcham can be reached at Editor@WatongaRepublican.com