Life is bittersweet right now.
Last night, at my son's basketball game, a parent commented,
"Do you know why some species eat their young?
It's so they won't have to deal with teenagers."
And to some degree,
living with my sixteen and eighteen-year-olds
is a lot like that.
And yet, at the same time,
I grieve this growing.
Son #1 got a letter of intent yesterday.
And the idea of sending him
To live in an apartment
At a junior college
One thousand miles away
And I think of all the stories read
(Where are you? Call me. Be careful. Love you)
And I cannot believe
that this sweet time
Is almost gone.
Sundays too my father got up early
and put his clothes on in the blueblack cold,
then with cracked hands that ached
from labor in the weekday weather made
banked fires blaze. No one ever thanked him.
…What did I know, what did I know
of love’s austere and lonely offices?
Read the rest of the poem here.
Poetry Friday is at "Hey, Jim Hill!"