Leaving the nest

As a parent of teenagers, I am starting to face the oncoming empty nest syndrome.

My daughter has a job now, and will soon be heading off to the University of Georgia. My son has a girlfriend, car and drivers’ license, so I see him about as often as Halley’s Comet. Sometimes I walk through a quiet house that once was full of life and I get a little sad, thinking of them being gone for good.

And then other times I think, “Bring it on!”

Sure, I’ll miss them. But there are a lot of things I won’t miss. I won’t miss, for example, having to move three cars every time I need to back out of the driveway. I won’t miss lathering up my face with shaving cream, then opening a drawer to discover my razor has been “borrowed.” And I won’t miss never getting a good night’s sleep.

The other night, my wife and I were lying in bed asleep, since it was after 11 p.m. and we’re old. The bedroom door burst open and in stormed my 18-year-old daughter. She is a very girly, pretty, sweet girl, but at night she walks around the house like a water buffalo. She slams doors and cabinets and makes enough noise to scare away the devil. I should have known something was up when she didn’t sleep through a single night the first six months of her life. It was a bad omen.

On the night in question, she stomped through the room, opened the bathroom door, flipped on a light, grabbed something, and walked back out. “Don’t mind us,” I called out as she slammed the door behind her. “We’re just sleeping.”

The next night, I had hope of actually getting some sleep. My son was off at a church camp about 30 miles away, and my daughter was working late and wouldn’t be home until midnight. I was hoping I could be sound asleep by the time she blew into the house like a hurricane, as is her style.

At about 11:30, the phone rang. Any parent with children of driving age knows the absolute terror that sound can cause. You answer the phone in fear, praying that you won’t be hearing a state trooper on the other end of the line, or that your child is not calling you from a pay phone in the county jail or a wedding chapel in Gatlinburg. My fear quickly subsided, though, when I heard, “Uh, dad, see, what happened was, my car keys jumped out my hand, and got stuck in the ignition, and then I panicked and accidentally hit the lock button and closed the door, and…”

Suddenly, feared turned to anger. At this point I was fully awake and I said, “You locked your keys in your car AGAIN?” Then, to make sure I didn’t say anything that would be used against me later in a child protective services’ hearing, I did the smart thing and handed the phone to his mother. I tried to fall back asleep as they worked out the details of how to get the spare key to him. I knew I was going to wind up getting screwed in this deal, so I figured I’d at least try to get rested before my early morning drive.

Of course, within a few minutes the phone rang again. It was my daughter, thoughtfully letting us know that instead of midnight, she might not get home until 12:15. I know, I know, I should count my lucky stars that she was thoughtful enough to call me. Yep, that’s exactly what I was thinking. I’m a lucky, lucky man.

Speaking of Lucky – I had just laid my head down on my pillow when she decided to add to the fracas with some poorly-timed and very loud barks. I went to the back door and put it to her straight – “Look, I can’t do this with the rest of them, but if you don’t shut up I will duct-tape your mouth closed and put you in the trunk of a car until the morning.” She’s not leaving the nest, so I have to be a little more proactive with her.

Before I know it, I’ll be getting a good night’s sleep, I’ll always know where my razor is, and I won’t have to drive 60 extra miles on the way to work to unlock somebody’s car. And I’ll probably hate it.