The Road Goes On Forever but the Party Ends for Mom

The whole purpose of education is to turn mirrors into windows.

Sydney J. Harris

If you've ever driven through Texas, the road indeed goes on forever. Such was the case last week as I drove 1200 miles with middle son, Jordan, for the beginning of his senior year at university.

Three years ago, I made a similar drive, with a boy who didn't mind when I suggested we stop at the Painted Desert and the Petrified Forest National Park. One grateful to escape his new environment for a visit to the Grand Canyon. One I had to make go back to his dorm to spend his first night rather than staying in the hotel with me, even though it broke my heart.

On that road trip, ambivalent and nervous about beginning a new life in a place far from home, he wanted the road to go on forever.

This time, the man I rode with had no desire to look out the window and see the sights on the alternate route I chose. When I pulled my guidebook out of the door pocket, I pretended not to notice the grimace on his face. Nor did I comment on the relief that echoed throughout the car when I put the book back in its pocket.

How children change. How children become independent. I know that is the job of every parent to monitor and instill those goals. Makes me proud to see it happen, even though there is a twinge in my heart I have to let rest. It's Jordan's road now. As it should be.

The night before our departure, I prepared the favorite spaghetti dinner. The little brother and Jay, Jordan's friend since pre-school all shared a cheer for a successful school year.
At 7am the next morning, we meandered through Texas Hill Country roads before joining the freeway.


My eyes wandered to take in the ever changing terrain.



or to notice the miles of windmills high on the hills.

A few hundred miles in, conversations about adventure and life took the place of our high speed picture taking. The camera rested on the floor as we dodged thrown retread tires in El Paso and I marveled at UTEP, the Rio Grande, New Mexico State University and Texas Canyon just inside Arizona. Jordan feigned interest, even though I knew him well enough to know he noticed it all.

Alas, the day grew very long.

Check in at our hotel in Tucson granted us two free drinks at the bar. Bingo!

On the road by 8:00am, four more hours of driving landed us in front of Jord's dorm. Yes, smile for the camera, Son. You have to do these things for your mother.

And who wants to hang with Mom when you have friends to reunite with? Young men for whom your mom holds a tad of jealousy for they get to know how your days go, like I used to. Look at the smile on my son's face. You think he is glad to be there?

The car and storage unit unloaded, I leave him with his roommates to set up their abode for the new year. I venture to the local Target to restock his belongings with new sheets, cleaning supplies (that will probably stay in the bag), a new razor, and fresh socks.

The next day, after a trip to the observatory, we stop at an overlook, his school in the background.

My hotel. I'm so glad I can easily amuse myself. (That sign lights up redder than red at night.)

This is only one of 124 trains that blast by the hotel night and day, all blowing their horn for God and everybody to get the hell out of the way.

At the airport on Sunday, my son wore his new socks. I hugged him and told him to always be proud of himself. He has his list from mom on all the things to accomplish this year -- take on every adventure possible, change his sheets regularly, and make sure he graduates in the spring. Date all kinds of girls. That he'll never have this plethora of young women in one place ever again.

I will miss him, but am, oh, so glad to have shared a few days alone with him.

Have a great year, Jordan. Enjoy the road.


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