Shane Has Reached Adulthood.
My baby just turned 18.
Let me say that again, with emphasis in the proper place: my baby just turned 18.
When I look at Shane, I can still see an infant with saucer-sized eyes. I can hear his toddler twang, a Southern accent he developed without living in the South. And I am still surprised that his hair is brown, as it’s been for a decade, because it was so blond when he was young.
I have heard that this happens with the youngest child – that moms can never quite allow that child to grow up. In Shane’s case, he’s been mature for so long, it would have been impossible for me to hold him back. He’s always made me wonder: how can he be so wise at such a young age?
But watching him grow has been like watching a slow-motion movie. He waltzed through middle school; the typical social scares simply didn’t apply to him. He went off to high school orientation without much of a thought: “How was it, Son?” “It was school,” he said. And while I took him driving for at least half of his required 60 hours, it was more like a hobby than a rite of passage – something to do during the pandemic, really. He tried it; he passed; he drives now.
I’ve been taking Shane on college road trips since he tagged along with Dylan to see campuses, and we stopped at a few indoor water parks on the way. College trips with Shane have been long and quiet but wonderfully compelling, keeping me on my best behavior and teaching me repeatedly that Shane is usually right. The colleges were never the highlights of these trips; I just treasured our time together.
Now, with only a handful of trips ahead and dozens behind, Shane’s birthday hit me like a thud, a brick against my head. Alice Cooper’s raw roar “I’m EIGHTEEN“ keeps echoing in my head, even though the character in the song bears little resemblance to my son.
Shane has reached adulthood. He hasn’t become stoic or stolid or any less fun. Shane hasn’t changed in any way; he’s still the incredible young man he’s been for so many years. But now …
He’s going to leave. He’s going to walk out that door; he’s really going. And he’s not going to be at camp for a week, which was tough enough for me to handle. He’ll be at college – likely hours if not days away – and he won’t be in his bedroom or playing the guitar or blasting his music behind closed doors. Shane won’t be home.
Shane will have a new home. He will call his college “home” and I will be happy that he is happy there. But secretly I will also be lonely and sad, because Shane’s home has always been here, with me. And my home will be dreadfully empty (sorry Bill) without him.
Now that he’s 18, Shane will be trekking forth to make his life elsewhere.
This is tough to know, to recognize, to believe, when I still see a child in front of me. My toddler-twangy baby boy is officially a man.
I only know how to handle this one way, and it the only thing I know to get through the unthinkable: I will take it one day at a time. I can survive anything in tiny chunks.
But I sure don’t plan to enjoy it.