Time to Fly

Word Cloud from taxedo.com via "Roots, Wings, and Me"

There are seasons I really enjoy on Facebook. Prom, Homecoming and graduation are three particular favorites as I scroll through the parade of young adults I knew as children dressed up and looking grown up. Back to school is fun, too -- a season of new beginnings and posed photos in new clothes with crisp, fresh trimmings heralding the beginning of a new school year.

But beginnings follow endings, and these can be bittersweet. All the preparations that lead up to a new school herald not only a fresh start, but also the end of summer. The season of first day photos at the back door or under the dogwood tree has yielded to the season of packing up my child's belongings and transporting her to another state.

Last year, we grew accustomed to her being at school, transitioning back into the household of two that we were before she was born. There were benefits to this, of course, but it took most of first semester for things to begin to feel normal.

Then, in June, we grew accustomed to her being home again. It was a short summer -- a revolving door summer -- kicked off by her trips to London and the beach and characterized by her coming and going pretty much as she pleased. Still, she was here much of the time and the timbre and feel of the house changed as we transitioned from two back to three again.

Her impending departure brings mixed feelings all around. She is excited, ready to return to her friends and the studies she finds fascinating, not to mention the freedom that comes with living with roommates instead of parents.

It's a great feeling when your child has found her place, but it's tinged with sadness when that place is a train ride away. We're excited for her, but less prepared for the ending that this latest beginning brings than we ought to be, given that we've already experienced it once and we knew it was coming.

congerdesign via Pixabay

The process of giving our children roots and wings gives us as parents roots and wings as well. When our children are young, we dig in, building routines and traditions that transcend the places we call home, anchoring us as a family. As we grow together, these roots deepen and strengthen, creating the foundation for the wings our children will need in order to become who they are meant to be. 

Then, just about the time that the roots have taken hold, the sprouting of wings begins. Walking home from the bus stop alone. Getting a driver's license. Going to college. 

Okay, maybe not this. But post-adolescent flight
definitely requires a sense of humor.
Photo: Alexas Fotos via Pixabay

In the meantime, our parental wings have been clipped, and it takes time for the concept of our flying on our own to take hold. Theoretically, if we're wise, it should take less time after each successive, feathers-flying departure of our offspring to realize that we haven't lost the ability to fly ourselves; we've merely suppressed it. Sometimes, we need a nudge, just as our children did, to focus on our wings, trusting that our roots will keep us connected, even as we fly in a different direction.

Roots, while important, keep us earth-bound, while wings allow us to soar. After watching from the nest for a decent interval (which will, I hope, be shorter than last year's), I think I'm ready to test out my wings.

After all, why should soaring to new heights be limited to the young?