Dear Sam,
It has been 6 weeks since I last posted. When I completed this activity for your
sister, I had a big gap in the spring as well.
With her, however, I blamed it on the terrifying onset of the Covid 19
pandemic, with its subsequent lock downs and general upheaval of all life as we
then knew it. Turns out, maybe senior spring is a busy, demanding time even under
less dramatic circumstances.
I’ve been collecting some lessons over the last several weeks,
and today I’m vowing to write 14 letters to you in 14 days. It’s a grandiose ambition, and our calendar
is as swamped as always, but I’m going to try and take it on nonetheless. I received an email from school today that
there are exactly 20 days of school left for the senior class of 2022. So I’ll finish with just under a week to
spare. With a little luck, maybe I can
even meet my goal of having your book printed and available in time for your
graduation party the second week of June.
Though I doubt it is on your radar, global supply chains are a bit of a
mess, and I print these books with a company out of the Netherlands, so the
odds are not good that I’ll have everything tied up in a pretty bow in the next
8 weeks. But I will still try. The lion’s share of the work is in the
writing—the watching and the learning and the reminiscing about you. My boy.
I doubt the book will mean much to you until you really absorb what your
leaving will mean. And that may be
months, or more likely years, away.
One imminent reality of your launching into a life of your
own, though, is that there are a lot of unrealized details about your life that
are being smoothly and invisibly managed by magical little email fairies behind
the scenes. Just kidding—it’s just one
person, and she’s neither particularly sparkly, dainty or magical. It’s me.
I’m sweating all these details for you because you are still mine to
care for, even if the caring in these final months looks more secretarial than nurturing.
Before you go, I want to give you a bit of unconventional
advice: sweat the small stuff. Or, at minimum, appreciate the sweating of
the small stuff by those who love you. This
week alone, I have contacted your college about financial aid, filled out
multiple documents for your high school about your upcoming graduation week, emailed
the principal about graduation protocol, uploaded your photo for graduation
announcements, exchanged text messages with other moms about prom, reminded you
to pick up your suit, given you gas money, created calendar appointments for no
fewer than 3 graduation events and sent reminders to all of your grandparents
and your dad, made a note to have your transcripts sent to college in time for
the deadline, helped you complete 4 months of overdue laundry, reminded you of
a couple of passwords, and read multiple reminders from the school (which
reminds me—have you returned all of your library books?) There is so much small stuff to sweat in this
paperwork infested, detail laden modern life of ours. And next year, it will be yours to
manage. This worries me a little bit.
On the flip side, I have watched your sister gradually absorb
more and more of the details of her life since leaving for college almost 2
years ago. Although there are still
regular (and sometimes slightly frantic) calls about bills and paperwork, month
by month she takes on more. More often
than not, when discussions are required with various authorities now, she is
asking me to proofread or review, rather than create and manage. College is a good on ramp to adult
responsibilities, particularly as it relates to personal finance and
organization, but it starts soon.
Beginning when we send the last of your grad party guests home and
culminating in our moving you into whatever dorm you end up in (speaking of
which—have you finalized that with your college yet?), you will be the first
line of defense with regards to the 72,000 weekly emails your school and other
various organizations and places of business will send a young man just
embarking on adult life. Sweat the small
stuff. As much as my mama bear
protectiveness emerges in matters such as these, I don’t intend to be handling
all your business for much longer. Honestly,
I’m pretty organized and efficient, but I’m also relishing the thought of
having my administrative obligations reduced by one less user in the very near
future. Sweat the small stuff, buddy. I’ll be a phone call away when you have
questions, but your life will be yours to organize and manage in just a few
short months. Before you go, sweat the
small stuff.
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