by Joe Kennedy
As scheduled from the moments they were born, my daughter Katherine and my son Michael packed their beds and other belongings over the July 4 weekend and rolled off to Washington, D.C. to plunge more deeply into their adult lives. They left equipped with the experiences and knowledge they’ve gathered since they were born in Salem and reared in Roanoke County. I guess they’re part of the Brain Drain we hear about, the migration of our bright children toward the employment, entertainment and affluence available in the capital region.
For precision’s sake, l should say that Katherine’s D.C. sojourn had its roots in spring 2010, when she graduated from Virginia Tech and moved to Virginia Beach, where she enjoyed the surf and sun, waited tables and, one evening, served a woman whose son-in-law had a consulting firm you-know-where. The customer arranged an interview for Katherine a few weeks later, the son-in-law hired her and she works for the firm even now.
Michael had lived in D.C. and worked as an Internet editor From August 2006, a few months after he graduated from Tech, till Spring 2007, when he took a job with a software company based in Blacksburg for which he still works — in Washington.
So this was not my first experience with an empty nest. Nor was it the worst. That was the one in 2006. Back then, Michael and Katherine left home within a few days of each other. I came home from work that first evening without them, noticed the deafening silence and realized that, more even than on the morning after my wife Sharon died in 1999, I felt devastatingly alone.
For the first time ever, the kids wouldn’t be rejoining me the minute summer camp concluded, the sleepover ended or the holidays arrived. They had other obligations. They still do.
This time, I took comfort in knowing they are adults, and their futures are the most important things for all of us. Comfort came also from realizing that they know more than I do, and they understand more — not just about high tech things but about things in general.
Especially since my stroke two tears ago, our roles have been reversing.
If things go as planned, soon I will ride an Amtrak train or Mega Bus to see them in Washington. They will meet me at the station, guide me to my digs and cart me around town, as Sharon and I used to do for them. They will look at and listen to me and, I hope, marvel at how smart I’ve become, and how calm, compared with the unwitting, hyperactive comedian I was when I was trying to be both their mother and their father.
They will tell me to stand up straight and reprove me for indulging in self-deprecating talk about my parenting performance. Just by being themselves they will pay a high return on every ounce of time, money and energy Sharon and I invested in them. They will remember, I hope, how I learned to help them as they went forward, mostly by staying out of their way.
When Michael packed for his move to D.C. in 2006, I hovered over him with unceasing worry and doubt. When we went outside to the truck he’d rented, we stood awkwardly for a moment. Then, stupidly, I said something about some of the hard times we’d shared. Tears welled up in his eyes, and in mine. We embraced, he climbed aboard and I stood and watched as the truck rolled up the driveway. It felt like my whole life was going away.
I had the same feeling when Katherine left, beach-bound, in 2010.
This year, Michael came home and packed and prepared like a pro. For the few days he lived here, we talked about sports, movies, politics and other interests we’ve shared for a lifetime, saying by our actions, “I love you, I’ll miss you and we’ll see each other soon.”
Each evening, he went outside and shot hoops in the driveway, as he did in high school. I looked down at him from my bedroom window, pride creasing my face with a megawatt smile.
After a dozen years of parenting alone, I have distilled my lessons learned into a small stein of wisdom, or maybe McWisdom:
1.Be present for your children.
2. Talk with them and listen to them every night and every day.
3. Share their activities, working one-on-one, if possible.
4. Admit your mistakes, explain theirs and always, always forgive them, and always tell them you love them.
5. Never, ever stop thanking God you have them.
6. Remind yourself regularly that parenting is a privilege, and it’s always worth whatever it demands of us. We will never have anything more precious than our children, until, I am told, our grandkids arrive.
