An edict politely disguised as a request from my ten-year-old who has been ensconced in middle school for all of seven weeks, a boy who, for the last six weeks, insisted I be no more than ten feet away from the door from which he is dismissed lest panic—his, not mine—ensue.
The characteristic parental emotions bubbled in response, of course—simultaneous feelings of loss and pride as I continually parent myself–proudly, selflessly–into obsolescence, believing the less my child needs me the more heartily I can pat myself on the back.
It’s the purported and ultimate goal of the parent-child relationship: instilling, empowering, then, finally, the release. Self-sufficiency, independence. Exhale.
Except though my son sought a semblance of release this week, I realized he didn’t actually say he didn’t need me; he didn’t ask me to…
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