The Unexpected Advantage of Absence

My dad, a hopeless punster, once told me a drawn-out, miserable joke that ended with the punchline: An abscess makes the fart go "honda."  Like the sticky aftermath of a traumatic experience, I doubt I will ever be able to shake that punchline from my memory.  And, really, that's okay with me.

What I have been reminded of these past few weeks, though, is the original adage from which this bastardization emerged--Absence makes the heart grow fonder.  I realize that, in these cynical, post-modern, meh-riddled days we live in, such simple, old-timey adages can be viewed through a rather dismissive lens.  The fact that they endure at all, though, tells me that they are rooted in some sort of truth that can outlast even these brutal times we live in.

That truth has made itself known to me over and over again, ever since Eric and Allison departed the homey shores of their motherland. 

How else do I explain the solicitous attention both kids have given to Mark and me these past few weeks, framed in what seems to be something like accumulated gratefulness?  Remove them from the home and, upon their return, magical things emerge--dishes done without request or complaint, meals prepared with what almost seems like joy or satisfaction, questions asked about our days, our struggles, our lives.  And then, there's a strange hesitance, too, an unwillingness to let us buy them an outfit or pick up a few groceries for them.

Eric and Allison are not perfect, of course.  Far from it, thank goodness.  But they do seem to have done a pretty fair job of growing into post-Copernican humans who understand that it really isn't all about them.

Selfish as we are, Mark and I never chose a parenting style that was, ultimately, all about us--unless you consider our determination to hand off every rotten chore we ourselves had once been strapped with.  So we are left scratching our noggins of late, wondering how to explain this nice development in the family dynamic.

It almost has the feel of a Penn and Teller trick, something wonderful that lacks any apparent explanation.

This generosity of spirit, it turns out, has been the unexpected silver lining of emptying our nest, the quiet pleasure of watching our fledglings behave in loving, appreciative, grown-up ways that give us confidence in the future.

I won't hold my breath that this comfortable, surprising stasis will continue from here on, but I know now that this good stuff burbles beneath the skin of my children.  And, like a rotten yet well-loved punchline, it will make its appearance again and again in this life I live.