My Parents’ House

When grown kids make their own home.

Photo by Anthony Tran on Unsplash

I picked up Youngest Child from the airport this morning. He had an audition for grad school down in Florida and made a quick weekend of it. He had driven in from his college Friday morning, leaving his car at our house. He stopped in the bathroom and then put his shoes back on to go.

“Don’t you want a nap or something to eat?” I asked.

He shook his head. “Nah. I’ll do it when I get home,” he answered.

‘Home’, of course, meaning the house he was renting at school. He saw my face, which might have been a little bit sad, and sheepishly said, “I mean, my other home.”

Ouch.

Did it hurt? Of course, but it’s really okay. It’s the way things are supposed to be. He’s a senior in college, heading to grad school next year. Of course he’s not going to live with us forever.

It’s not like he’s the first one, either. Oldest Child has been living completely on his own since the day he graduated college and across the state for his first grown-up job, almost six years ago. He’s since been living on the other side of the country with Bonus-Daughter for the past few years doing his grad school thing. They’re getting married later this year. When they come back to Michigan for holidays, they split their time between us and her parents: the Parents’…