I had a milestone experience recently that was poignant, sad, happy, and made a grown man cry tears.
Bloody hell. Cowboys even cry now and then, but South African men? Lash us with barbed wire and we'll laugh. Apply shock treatment and we'll tell you it tickles. Beat us at rugby and... okay okay we can get a bit choked up about that I'll admit, especially when it's done by those men in yellow from the nanny state down under. But cry? Come on man, that's for Manhattan metrosexuals and Los Angelinos trying to get in touch with their feminine side and Dallas Ole Boys at an Evangelical Rally. Not us okes. But I did. Not as in buckets, but my cheeks were wet.
It's all about the passage of time, and suddenly realising an age has passed. You'll never again see that unbridled joy when you hand over their first bicycle or full-size cricket bat. You'll never again guide them as they try some new skill, see that awe as they gaze at some new wonder, watch them drive away in the bus on that first camp at the new school, console them as they fail and try again, celebrate and laugh with them as they make it through.
You look at parents with young kids and suddenly feel like you're lost. That age with your kids has gone.
Don't get me wrong. I've got two extraordinarily awesome sons. The one is a maverick entrepreneur networking genius. The other is a really talented sportsman, scholar, also a helluva entrepreneur, a prankster and character of note. They've got great values, amazing character and I could never be prouder of them.
St David's Marist Inanda recently held their Final Assembly for the Class of 2011. Of which my younger son is a member. My older son is a member of the class of 2009. His Final Assembly was pretty emotional, but it didn't hit home then that this life would soon be over. His younger brother still had another two years.
This time was different. Suddenly we would no longer be sitting at the side of the rugby field or cricket pitch with the other parents. We wouldn't be bellowing our lungs out as the boys in black and gold thundered towards the try-line. We wouldn't be sharing wine and snacks at the oval and counting down the overs as they chased a score. We wouldn't be going to the drama, cultural or fireworks events at the school.
So when the Class of 2011 stood on that stage and did Kalamazoomba for the last time as matrics, and their classmates in the hall returned the war-cry with equal vigour, I found myself with wet cheeks.
Next year both our boys will be in Cape Town and my wife and I will be doing what they call empty-nesting.
It will be a time of new challenges, new rhythms, and new opportunities. But I will miss them. No one quite prepares you for this. I want them to go out there and make their way in the world. Study. Think. Experience. For them it's the next great adventure.
So why not for us? Well, 'adventure' is a little over the top right now. I'm still in the re-group phase. But my mojo for the unfettered life is awaking and maybe 'adventure' won't be over the top in awhile. Just give me awhile. I've got to get used to this.
Bloody hell. Cowboys even cry now and then, but South African men? Lash us with barbed wire and we'll laugh. Apply shock treatment and we'll tell you it tickles. Beat us at rugby and... okay okay we can get a bit choked up about that I'll admit, especially when it's done by those men in yellow from the nanny state down under. But cry? Come on man, that's for Manhattan metrosexuals and Los Angelinos trying to get in touch with their feminine side and Dallas Ole Boys at an Evangelical Rally. Not us okes. But I did. Not as in buckets, but my cheeks were wet.
It's all about the passage of time, and suddenly realising an age has passed. You'll never again see that unbridled joy when you hand over their first bicycle or full-size cricket bat. You'll never again guide them as they try some new skill, see that awe as they gaze at some new wonder, watch them drive away in the bus on that first camp at the new school, console them as they fail and try again, celebrate and laugh with them as they make it through.
You look at parents with young kids and suddenly feel like you're lost. That age with your kids has gone.
Don't get me wrong. I've got two extraordinarily awesome sons. The one is a maverick entrepreneur networking genius. The other is a really talented sportsman, scholar, also a helluva entrepreneur, a prankster and character of note. They've got great values, amazing character and I could never be prouder of them.
St David's Marist Inanda recently held their Final Assembly for the Class of 2011. Of which my younger son is a member. My older son is a member of the class of 2009. His Final Assembly was pretty emotional, but it didn't hit home then that this life would soon be over. His younger brother still had another two years.
This time was different. Suddenly we would no longer be sitting at the side of the rugby field or cricket pitch with the other parents. We wouldn't be bellowing our lungs out as the boys in black and gold thundered towards the try-line. We wouldn't be sharing wine and snacks at the oval and counting down the overs as they chased a score. We wouldn't be going to the drama, cultural or fireworks events at the school.
So when the Class of 2011 stood on that stage and did Kalamazoomba for the last time as matrics, and their classmates in the hall returned the war-cry with equal vigour, I found myself with wet cheeks.
Next year both our boys will be in Cape Town and my wife and I will be doing what they call empty-nesting.
It will be a time of new challenges, new rhythms, and new opportunities. But I will miss them. No one quite prepares you for this. I want them to go out there and make their way in the world. Study. Think. Experience. For them it's the next great adventure.
So why not for us? Well, 'adventure' is a little over the top right now. I'm still in the re-group phase. But my mojo for the unfettered life is awaking and maybe 'adventure' won't be over the top in awhile. Just give me awhile. I've got to get used to this.
2 comments:
It is heartrending to watch our kids grow up, and so, so hard to smile and wave them off with the good grace that lets them go guilt-free and happily on to their futures. But you've done a splendid job, and as you say, so many joys are yet to come: seeing them graduate, seeing them marry, becoming grandparents....I'm so with you though. Nobody tells you how difficult this bit is.
Thanks Rosie. Congrats on getting your books published - bloomin awesome! Gordon
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