For A While

“They’re only yours for a while.” I heard that so many times when my children were very young. Everyone told me that I would raise my children but then I had to let them go. Now I’m a bit of a hardheaded person, sometimes a little stubborn, and I was determined to beat the nay-sayers. My kids would always be mine!

I remember when my son was in first grade. Other mothers had warned me that when the kids reached first grade the teachers wanted to cut the parents out. “You won’t have access to his classroom,” one mother told me. “You just drop them at the front door and they’re gone,” another chimed in. I had this image of an ogre teacher standing at the doorway of the classroom waiting to steal my baby boy. Well, somehow I managed to wiggle in. I was determined to walk my son to his class each morning and get him settled for his day. And I was successful! For the first week of school, I would walk him to his classroom, put his lunch on the shelf, his coat on the rack and get his work out on his desk for him. Then I would kiss him on the cheek and tell him to have a wonderful day and that Mommy loved him.

One morning after the first week of school, the teacher said, “Mrs. Jarman, Tim can take care of those things. He’s in the first grade and is big enough to take care of himself.” I looked at my son, who sheepishly nodded in agreement. I didn’t know what to do. Flustered, I kissed him on the cheek and I left. “How dare she?” I said to myself once I had reached the car. “He’s my son,” I thought. Each day after that, I would check with my son to see if everything was going well. Had that brut of a teacher said or done anything that might have upset him? “No, Mom,” he always replied, “school is great!”

Years passed and my son somehow managed on his own at school. I spent many hours a week as a parent volunteer, but he got himself to class and unpacked each day all by himself…through middle school and high school. Somewhere along the way, my son decided he wanted to go to a military school, a service academy. I remember a parent meeting we attended for one of the academies and a mother of a cadet at the school spoke. “They take your kid,” she said. “They become a part of the service and you never get them back.” Tears rolled down my cheeks in the car on the way home. How could I let him go to such a horrid place? Would they really take my child?

As luck would have it, my son applied to and was accepted at the U.S. Coast Guard Academy. We were notified in January of his senior year. For six months I agonized over the theft of my child. “You never get them back” rang through my brain. I sat through his graduation with a pit in my stomach. I had less than a month until the grand theft. The day before the crime, we drove eight long hours to Connecticut. I put on the face of a cheerful mother, proud of her son’s accomplishments and ready to see him off on a great adventure. But inside, I was wailing. They were going to take my son. My baby.

We left him in Connecticut on a pleasant June afternoon. He seemed eager to begin his swab summer experience. I worried. Would he be all right? Would they feed him? Would they be nice to him? It was a long four weeks before we saw him again. We received a few letters from him. Some were upbeat, others were not. But he was making it, surviving the pressures of an intense summer program.

When we saw him in July, he looked so handsome in his uniform. He stood tall and proud as he introduced us to members of his company. Then the realization came to me. They had indeed stolen my son. My boy was gone. But I wasn’t sad. I wasn’t even angry. There I stood in the presence of a proud young man, a young man who was preparing to serve his country. And I was so proud and happy that he had been mine, for a while.

The boys of summer

This year marks the first time in the past fourteen years that I will not be heading to Florida for a few days of spring training baseball. My son is a huge baseball fan. He always has been. At his urging, we agreed to house some players for the local minor league team back in 1995. Our player housing gig lasted for ten years. During that time, my son befriended a number of professional baseball players. Spring training was our time to see them all in one state at one time.

Each year he would check the team schedules to see who was playing whom and in what stadiums. We would map out our schedule sometimes crisscrossing the state two or three times in one trip. We’d head from Ft. Lauderdale to Ft. Myers and back to Jupiter and then head north to Kissimmee. Some days we would watch two games, some days it was just one. He was able to meet Cal Ripken, Jr,. Mark McGwire and so many other superstars of the game.

There was also our minor league time. Players who had come through Frederick were also included in our spring visits. We’d head to Sarasota to visit with Orioles minor leaguers. After practice, we’d load up the rental car with players and head to a nearby restaurant. I would sit and listen to the boys talk about who was on a hitting streak and who was struggling. They’d talk about the teams to beat in the upcoming season and in the midst of it all would sit my son, grinning ear to ear.

After dinner, we’d sometimes head back to the hotel where I would engross myself in a book. My young son would be off playing video games with the guys in their rooms. On occasion, I would call the other rooms to see if Timmy was being a bother. They’d assure me that he was only a bother because he was beating them! Soon it would be time for lights out and my son would appear at the door to our room. Then he’d share with me about some of the players who had popped in to play or watch. Some would be first round draft picks from other teams, others might be players from our local area. But he would always have a special baseball story to share with me.

One of my favorite parts of our trip was the actual time we spent on the road. I treasured this time because it was just the two of us, mom and son. We’d chat about how things were going at school, who was acting like a jerk or which teachers he liked. Sometimes other sports were topics of conversation. Football was always one of those favorites. We’d plan a day trip to Ravens summer camp. Dreams and goals were often discussed. He’d tell me about colleges he thought he might attend. Sometimes we’d even talk about what he’d be like when he got married. He’d tell me how he wanted to bring his son to spring training.

It seems like just yesterday. Now he’s an adult and out in the real world. Recently we’ve spoken of different dreams—the kind of house he wants to buy, vacation plans. I always looked forward to our spring trips. We’d leave winter for just a few days that would give us a glimpse of the weather to come at home. This year there will be no trip. Active duty Coast Guard officers have other special events that call them. This year’s happened to be Haiti. But I’ll keep track of those games and those statistics and those players for him and I will keep my eye on those spring trainings to come.