Taking off, landing, and the joy in between

On getting #dadweepy as college approaches

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Taking off, landing and the joy in between

My daughter went with me on an assignment in July, an adventure trip for the ages just as she prepared for her own adventure of a lifetime: She goes away to college next week.

As she got strapped into a hang-glider, I was nervous for her, nervous for me, excited for her, and, um, nervous for me. Her instructor waited for the wind to be just right, then … whoosh, off they went. One minute she was with me, the next she was flying away.

As the glider soared into the California sky, I couldn’t help but think, there she goes, and I’m helpless but to watch, a custom-built metaphor for sending a kid off to college if there ever was one.

I didn’t have time to get #dadweepy then.

But I’m getting #dadweepy now.

She’s about to take off.

I can’t wait to watch her soar.

I can’t wait to see where she lands.

In the meantime, I can’t help but think of all her other beginnings and where they took us.

I carried her then she held my hand then she ran ahead of me and now she drives everywhere.

I put food in her mouth then put I food on her plate and now I order food from her at a restaurant.

I pushed her in a stroller then in a Big Wheel then I put training wheels on her bike then she rode that bike by herself and disappeared onto the greenway ahead of me.

I helicoptered her every step at the park and I put her on the slide then she climbed the slide herself and eventually she moved so fast as I was only vaguely aware of where she was in the park, and really whether she was there at all.

I’ve signed waivers for her to go skiing, ropes coursing, rock wall climbing and more. And this hit me like a sledgehammer to the chest before the hang-gliding adventure: I don’t have to, no, I CAN’T, sign waivers for her anymore.

I’ve progressed from sitting with her on my lap on a plane, to sitting next to her on a plane, to dropping her off at the airport so she could take her first international flight.

I’ve dressed her and picked out her clothes (not often or for long, natch) and now (as then) I just pay for them.

I’ve grown from feeling clueless when making 98 percent of parenting decisions to, well, wait, no, I’m still there. I’ve moved on from being deeply suspicious of every teen-age boy, no matter how decent, because I was once a teen-age boy to, wait, no, I’m still there, too.

I’ve dropped her off and picked her up at kindergarten and middle school and high school and as of a few days from now a place whose name ends in State University, and I’m OK with it I guess so long as she comes back, at least for once in a while.

Of course I’m sad about her going away to college. Of course I’m worried about her. And of course I’m excited to watch her learn to fly. I will be half sad, half thrilled when she no longer needs me for takeoffs.

Her hang gliding trip ended in a perfect landing. Exhilarated by the flight, she was glowing. That made two of us.