My firstborn now lives in a real house. There's a yard that slopes down to a curb, a large back yard fully fenced where the dog can frolic. The house sits on a culdesac. There is a mailbox, tilted a bit forward, but a mailbox nonetheless. Inside, the place is roomy and inviting, decorated, color coordinated, organized and livable. All of this adult behavior was carried out on a budget, without any assistance from her parents. The kitchen sprawls out in shining splendor, the counter festooned with all the modern design conveniences...
The living room is artfully equipped...
How did all of this happen? Why does self-sufficient, responsible living surprise me so when I am confronted with it coming from my children? Isn't this how I raised them? Isn't this how I expected them to turn out? Well...yes! But still, it's startling to see the results. It is a bittersweet emotion to at once see proof of their independence, and evidence that they no longer need you. Sure, they still need their parents for moral support, occasional advice and spoiling, but they no longer require your financial backing, or your daily council. They are, in every way that matters...grown ups.
It's a beautiful thing.
No comments:
Post a Comment