Run Away, Simba! Run Away!

It was early July, 1995.  My mind was filled with smoking cap sticks, black snakes and colored smoke balls, so I can be forgiven for almost overlooking the small child in the alley.

Barefoot and pudgy, the caramel-colored girl stood transfixed as I put punk to fuse, blowing up my children's future college funds with gleeful abandon.  When I  caught a glimpse of her peeking over our backyard fence, the "mother" portion of my brain finally kicked in.

"Eric, come meet your new neighbor, Dylan."

The rest, as they say, is history.

Next Thursday, Eric and Dylan will move into an apartment near the State Capital, just far enough away from the local prostitution ring to dissuade future distractions. 

. . . or so I tell myself.

And, really, I couldn't be happier.  Well, okay, I could be happier, but it would be that selfish kind of happiness, the kind that is wrapped in a white-knuckled kung-fu grip intended to preserve a present that really doesn't require or even qualify for preservation.

Even Allison, whose 17 years have caught up with her in a rather delightful and surprising way, unknowingly is prying my fat-knuckled fingers from her lithe, tanned arm.

Looks like "mom" is fast becoming an outdated term, much like "Space Food Sticks" and "8-track tape."  Before I know it, I'll be swapping out most of my cookbooks for new ones whose recipes are formulated for one or two people. . . .

Ah, but there are so many reasons that this new phase is one to celebrate:
    --Both kids possess a diligence that neither of their parents can recall ever possessing.  I mean, my God, they knowingly sign up for challenging classes, even when they realize they will struggle at times.  Hardly sounds like the mother who took Racquetball for three consecutive quarters, . . . .
    --Both have (mostly) willingly taken on the role of financing at least part of their lives, quietly accepting that it's just easier (and maybe even better) to buy their own clothes and pay the rent themselves.
    --Neither one appears to be a falling-down drunk or gambling addict.  Or Internet porn star, for that matter.
    --And, perhaps most importantly, both have a good nose for quality friendships, finding people who are solid, steady, reliable and kind.  This fact alone makes me more willing--nay, almost enthusiastic--to step aside and unlock the gates.

So, run away, my Simbas!  Run away and make wonderful lives for yourselves, ones in which you seek out your parents not for financial backing or bail, but rather for occasional doses of love, laughter and understanding, reminders that the ties that bind can also set you free to become yourselves.