Advent of the Empty Nest

“Did you remember to bring toilet paper?” I asked my oldest son Clay as we were about to haul his stuff into his new apartment.

Of course he didn’t. And that’s not all he forgot. As he prepares to begin his sophomore year of college at the University of Kentucky, perhaps at some point this morning it dawned on him that he should have started thinking about packing (and what to pack) before late yesterday afternoon.

A trip to Target is probably in his very near future (like, today). I mean, the kid can’t even get cleaned up. Apparently, while it’s a furnished apartment, it does NOT include the shower curtain, or hooks, or rings.

Had he planned a little better he probably could have talked his mother into a trip to the grocery store for a load of groceries. But no. So now he’s on his own.

And he really is on his own – a reality that’s just hit me in the past day or two. Last year when he went away for his freshman year, I knew he’d be back for the summer. He did come back, and he irked me enough to where I’m glad to see him get back into a regular routine.

Still, it’s bittersweet. This time he won’t be back.

The apartment lease is for a whole year, which means he’ll have to stay in Lexington next summer (and hopefully work and make money). And as I considered the fact that he won’t be coming home again, it occurred to me that I never went home again after my freshman year of college.

I guess the empty nest syndrome has begun. Yet I still remember so vividly the day Clay was born, his first day in day care, his first day of preschool, his days playing Knothole baseball. Those days all seem like yesterday.

Not that his younger brothers are quite so reminiscent. They’re trying to figure out which one will have dibs on Clay’s room.

Nevertheless, it’s a weird feeling to be so proud of your child, all grown up and ready to fly on his own; yet at the same time have a big hole in your heart because you know the days where you see him every day are most likely gone forever.

I’ve always known that my job as a parent is to ultimately work myself out of a job. I don’t feel that time has quite come yet. After all, I can still claim the kid as a dependent on my taxes (as I should – I just paid his tuition). Still, I realize with Clay the child-parent relationship has entered a new phase. He’s a young man now.

And to be honest, despite some of the irritations I may have with him from time to time, he did turn out pretty good. Just an all-around good kid, well-grounded, confident, and good looking if I say so myself. Oh, and he can name every World Series winner since 1965.

And while he’s all grown up now, I hope he knows that his mother will always love him, cherish him, and sometimes spoil him as she can (within reason, of course).

I’ll always be his cheerleader. I remember the year he was cut from his Knothole baseball team (a totally crappy thing that should have never happened to him) and I was so disillusioned that I wanted him to give up the game. Yet he was so determined to continue on with another team. I was so proud of his perseverance that when I took him to buy a bat I ended up buying him the most expensive bat in the store – just to boost his confidence. In the end he prevailed.

Now new challenges lie ahead, particularly with his demanding coursework. And I know he can persevere again.  His father and I support him all the way.

But there are some things he’s just going to have to learn to do for himself. Cooking and cleaning for starters. Hopefully his father and I and have given him a good foundation there.

Oddly enough, it’s the little things I worry about. As I speak, my little boy has no toilet paper. It’s no doubt a rough spot to be in. That’s just one big dilemma he’s going to have to work out for himself.

My Fry Baby

So it seems my 16-year-old son Luke is an aspiring fry cook. Quite by surprise a few weeks ago he announced that he had been hired to work in the kitchen at a nearby restaurant. Why in the world his $10 a week allowance didn't seem to be enough I don't know. But hey, he's grown into a young man, and I figured it wouldn't hurt him to learn what it's like to have the responsibility of a job.

I myself had such a job when I was his age -- working all the stations at my local Burger Chef preparing sandwiches, tending to the salad bar, assuming cashier duties on the front line, and of course the incessant sweeping, wiping down the tables, emptying out the trash and other general cleaning duties (including washing a dish or two).

However, after just a few weeks, I'm thinking I'm not so crazy about his work arrangement.

My son: master fryer and king of the sampler platter.

Not that I'm not proud of him. He's undoubtedly a hard worker. And when he comes home each night wreaking of grease, I simply hold my nose and overlook the stench (and of course encourage him to get into the shower as soon as he can).

I think it's' just that I miss him being around . I guess I enjoy his presence more than he knows -- even if we're not necessarily saying anything to each other but merely co-existing in the same space.

Since my middle son was just a baby, he has always been he one with the calming presence. I remember so vividly the times when he was a baby when I might get upset or frazzled. All it would take to soothe me was to pick him up and hold him for just a few minutes.

Even now, in the midst of what are sometimes chaotic situations, Luke brings a certain equilibrium to the household. When everything else around me is going crazy, Luke's demeanor helps to settle things down a bit.

So now his restaurant job is taking him away from me. But even more, I fear that it could get in the way of other things I deem more important in his life -- namely school and his extracurricular activities. I figure he has his whole life to work. Though I'm sure going back to a $10 a week allowance won't be easy.

Still, I'm confident that once school starts, he will set his priorities accordingly. He does have a pretty good head on his shoulders, so I trust him to do that. Plus I really don't want to see him blow his 4.0 GPA because he's out late every night frying up chicken wings and cheese sticks (and let's not forget the fried pickles either).

Not that this hasn't been a good experience for him. I'm glad he's learning what it's like to work hard. But honestly, I'm ready for my Fry Baby to come home and join his family at the dinner table every night for slightly healthier fare.

So to my son I offer this assurance. When the day comes that you get totally sick of the burgers and wings and fries, your mother will be here for you.

I'll always have broccoli waiting for you at home.

What to Do with my Ruger Twenty-Two?

With my dad being a law enforcement officer, it’s an understatement to say that he’s a gun guy. He has the whole gamut – 45’s, 22’s, 9 mm, shotguns, rifles, and whatever else those gun folks make. Needless to say, he’s amassed quite a collection.

So last spring when we were home for Easter, I went out with my dad (and my husband and boys) to the shooting range to pop off a few rounds just for the heck of it. I have to admit, it was kind of fun.

Now I’ve never been much into guns, but I did

Don't know what to do with your Ruger 22? Make a business
card holder out of it!

find the whole shooting experience to be quite exhilarating. It had been 20 years or so since I had used any sort of firearm. Was it like riding a bicycle, where you just pick up where you left off? Well, not really. It did seem awkward at first.

Probably because I learned off the bat that a 45 is definitely too much gun for me. I only shot the 45 a couple of times, because that’s all I could bear. The kick from the blast was so powerful I swear it almost broke my wrist! The 9 mm and 22 were much better.

My dad was all too glad to show me the proper procedures for shooting these weapons. And he knows what he’s doing, I guess. He taught concealed carry courses for years. Business was especially good for him once President Obama was elected. Apparently, folks were so concerned about Obama taking away their guns they made a mad dash to earn their concealed carry permits. To my knowledge, the whole “take away our guns” thing never came to fruition – but it’s always good to educate yourself about the weapon you’re carrying, no matter what the motive.

So after our shooting session ended, my dad showed me a handgun that caught my eye. A sweet little Ruger 22. It’s a cute little gun. Once I saw it I wanted it.

Of course, there are probably many other things on my wish list that I would rather have than a gun. And owning a gun is something I never really thought about until a couple of years ago. Two houses, both within two doors of ours, were broken into and burglarized within days of each other – both in broad daylight, while the owners were gone.

Yikes! That was a little scary. I wondered what would happen if our house was next? At that time I was home during the day. What would I do if burglars came crashing through my window when I was home alone? That’s the first time I ever considered maybe procuring a gun for personal protection. Fortunately, it was only a matter of time when, through their own stupidity, the culprits were nabbed. Yep – young, misguided kids in their early 20s, one whose mother lived just a block away. Anyway, after the crooks were caught, my panic died down.

I didn’t give any more thought to the gun thing until a couple of months ago, when my dad and husband attended a local gun show. Later that day, after they had arrived back, I was in my office only to find a box with the label “Ruger” plastered on it. I peaked inside, and there it was. A sweet little Ruger 22.

My husband went through all the legal channels to get it – he completed the paperwork, went through the background check, etc., and he managed to procure the piece without any trouble whatsoever. (I’m not sure why common sense gun control is such a contentious issue, especially when it comes to assault rifles and high volume magazines, but I suppose that’s a debate for another time.)

So now I’m the proud owner of a Ruger 22. The question now is, what do I do with it? I take it out of the box every once in a while and look at it. At this point, that’s about it. My husband tells me that the next time we go down to my parents’ house, we’ll have my dad take us out to the shooting range again, and I can learn to shoot it there. Okay.

But in the meantime it would be nice to get some practical use out of it.

Sooooooo, what can I do with it? Use it as a paperweight, maybe (without the bullets, of course)? Or maybe I could hang it on the wall. Nah. I would need a gun rack for that, and this little handgun is too small for a gun rack.

I know! I’ll stand it up on end and put a little flower into the barrel – get a “war and peace” theme going. Or I can stand it up on end and use it as a display for my business cards. Now I’m thinking creatively! That will work – at least until I learn to shoot it.

But once I learn to shoot it, what do I do with it then? Take it places? Where? I can’t take it to work with me, as there are no guns allowed in my workplace. (Which is understandable, but I still carry pepper spray, because the garage I park in is kind of creepy). Church? Oh, please! Sporting events? Pretty sure weapons aren’t allowed there, either.

Guess for the time being I’ll just admire my virgin Ruger 22 and keep it at home. I expect sometime I’ll get to shoot it. I’ll just chalk this little device up as home protection.

Not to say using it as a business card display isn’t a good idea. If I think about it, I’m probably better at shooting words rather than weapons, anyway.

My keyboard is my true ammunition. And the Ruger 22? It’s a nice little “lady gun” if I ever saw one. I admit, I can’t wait to shoot it. But hopefully, I’ll never have to use it. Which would probably be for the best, because I don’t envision myself ever having the fastest trigger finger.

Not that I don’t have triggers in my life. Triggered thoughts? Triggered dreams? Triggered ideas? Triggered passions? Sometimes I fear the atrophy of those, but I suspect they’re in me somewhere.

On occasion I just need some time away from the chaos to clear my head. So who knows? Maybe an afternoon at a shooting range, plunking off a few rounds with my Ruger 22, is all I need.

Guess I’ll give it a shot. Literally.

Why It's OK to be Gay

Whether you’re for gay marriage or against it (or whether your views on the issue are still evolving), there’s no denying that the whole gay marriage trend seems to be on a fast-moving roll these days. More than a dozen states have legalized gay marriage, and those that haven’t as of yet are eking out progress in other ways.

For instance, a recent ruling in Ohio (where gay marriage is banned) determined that same sex marriages performed in a “gay marriage” state must be recognized as marriages in Ohio. Whether that ruling will stand I don’t know. But it does indicate we as a society seem to be moving (albeit, some more slowly than others) forward rather than backward on this issue.

Hell, even Utah’s ban on same sex marriage has been jeopardized after a federal judge recently struck down that state’s voter-approved ban. Can you believe it? Utah! Living in ultra-conservative Kentucky, I was always of the opinion that hell would freeze over before the constitutional ban on gay marriage would be lifted here. Now there’s hope that maybe things will turn around in my lifetime.

As you might have guessed, I’m elated where we are now – in a time where we are finally engaging in some serious, intellectual dialogue about the virtues of marriage equality. I’ve always been of the opinion that same sex relationships can be just as faithful, beautiful, familial and normal as anybody else’s heterosexual relationship.

And for those who argue that gay marriage somehow violates the sanctity of traditional marriage, I quip that it’s not fair to blame gays and lesbians for ruining the sanctity of marriage. Check out the too high instances of infidelity and domestic violence in many of those traditional relationships. No – if we want to blame anyone for ruining the sanctity of marriage, we can point the finger at straight people for that.

Some may wonder how it is that I am from the Bible Belt of East Tennessee and can possess such progressive views on this topic. There is an irony here. Perhaps if certain adversity not smacked me in the face early in my youth, my views would have had a more traditional lean. But it was a small little high school in a very conservative area of the country that shaped my liberal views about gay rights and gay marriage. And of course, the vicious rumor that swirled out of thin air about me during my freshman year of high school also played a big part.

It was the winter of 1980 at West Greene High School in Mosheim, Tennessee. A friend of mine was distraught about some troubles she was having at home and she decided she was going to leave town for a while. Between classes I went to the locker room just in time to find her cleaning out her locker. All of my other friends were there too. We all took turns hugging her goodbye. Some of us cried. We went to class, not sure if we’d ever see our friend again. And that was that.

The next day I found out. Turns out I was the last one to find out. It was all over the school that me and my friend had been seen “making out” in the locker room. I had wondered why people were looking at me funny that day, and when a friend finally told me about the now widespread rumor I finally knew.

I wracked my brain as to how that could have happened. How could a simple hug goodbye be turned into a sexual soiree? And why was I the target of the rumor? My other friends were there too doing the same thing. Guess I was just an easy target.

The whole thing didn’t even make sense. I was a pretty shy, reserved person. Didn’t anyone know it would be totally out of character for me to blatantly “make out” with anyone in such a public place as the locker room?

Common sense didn’t seem to be a factor here, though. And when that day fell upon me, that’s when the hell that I’ll call the rest of my high school years commenced.

How was a 14-year-old girl supposed to handle such a thing, anyway? Especially in that ultra-conservative climate.

After the rumor started, I remember reacting to it with an almost stoic demeanor, viewing it as something surreal. Just a bad dream where I would eventually wake up. Sure, I saw the stares, and heard the giggles behind my back, but it was just a matter of staying strong. I certainly wasn’t going to do anybody the justice of showing my pain.

After school hours, though, I wasn’t so stoic. Hours upon hours were spent locked in my bedroom, each night weeping what seemed to be thousands of tears until my body had no more tears to shed. “Why, God?” I would ask. “Why me?” And every morning in those first few weeks it would take every ounce of strength that I had to enter through those school doors and face another day. Of taunting, and teasing, and strange looks.

I found out that a rumor just doesn’t die away. Sometimes it goes fallow for a while. But then it always tends to rear its ugly head when you least expect it. A rumor can dog you for years, if not the rest of your life. It leaves emotional scars, even decades after the fact.

After the initial hubbub died down, the next few years were just a matter of being prepared for that occasional insensitive remark that somebody might fling in my face. The rumor evolved to include many versions. My friend who was targeted in the rumor with me left the school after my freshman year, so I was left to weather it all alone. It was always that I had either been seen in the lockers, the bathroom, or the parking lot doing something inappropriate with another girl – yet the “other girl” was always unnamed.

As for me, I did anything I could to not give people a reason to talk. Going through crowded halls between classes was stressful in itself, for fear that I might accidentally bump into or brush up against someone who would then make something out of nothing of it by accusing me of touching them inappropriately.

The whole episode left me bitter. There were kids there who laughed at me, who lied about me, and who were cruel to me. Needless to say, graduating and getting out of town was a relief. I wish the whole thing would have never happened.

But maybe there was a reason why it did. That comes back to how my beliefs evolved and why I believe the way I do today.

There are those who contend that being gay is not only a choice, but also a choice that is highly immoral.

I disagree. And I only have my own experience to draw from. As someone who is wholly straight, I can’t claim that I understand what it’s like to be gay.

But I do understand what it’s like to have everybody looking at me and thinking I am.

Just from gauging the way I was treated, I don’t think anyone would choose that.

My belief is that God wants people of all mixes here in this world. And it goes beyond just races and religions. It also includes varying sexual identities.

As far as I’m concerned, same-sex couples who make it legal (at least in an increasing number of states, and maybe all states within the next 20 years) are just as traditionally married as any so-called “traditional” couple. What’s more, whether a same-sex couple is married or not has no bearing or adverse effect on me or my own 20-year marriage. So honestly, I’m not sure what all the uproar is about. (It's worth mentioning that the gay people who have been part of my life have been some of the nicest, most generous, most moral and of course most extremely tolerant people I've ever met.)

Against biblical concepts? I don’t buy it. There is the one verse from Leviticus, but as I recall the First Testament of the Bible also tells us it’s a sin to eat shellfish. Of course, I'm no Biblical scholar (despite my regular church attendance). But it seems to me that if homosexuality were such a big issue there might have been more than only one or two verses in the Bible addressing it. And I don’t think the Bible records Jesus ever saying anything one way or the other about it. Guess he was just too concerned with taking care of the poor.

Anyway, looking back on that long-ago experience in high school, I can’t say that I’d want to live that part of my life over again. But it did serve its purpose. The incident did play a huge part in shaping my progressive views on gay rights and marriage equality. 

Yes, I think I’d just soon leave that history behind.

But I am certainly thankful to be on what I consider to be the right side of history.