Happy 18th birthday

On my 18^th birthday, nearly 35 years ago to the day, in 1982, I was a skinny and scared freshman at Marist College. I was 90 miles from home. While not exactly “home sick,” I was definitely out of sorts – the first time away from home for an indefinite period. These feelings are so common as to span countless generations. I recently spoke with an old Marist alum, about five years older than me, and he described the combination of homesickness, loneliness and fear as he sat in his Leo Hall dorm room and cried, during the early days of his tenure at Marist. More than 40 years later, he’s well into middle age and his two sons are Marist alums, successful in their young adult lives already.

On that long-ago date, August 31, 1982, my older brother Rich surprised me by driving up from New Jersey to Poughkeepsie. He took me across the street to Skinner’s, a long since demolished pub that squatted on the corner of Route 9 and Fulton, where the Beck Place lot now resides (side note: Is the Internet amazing, or what? Check out this vintage photo I found of the Skinner’s sign …). Old Marist alums will regale you with stories of how much time they spent at Skinner’s or its predecessor, Frank’s. That night, I had a burger, some fries and my first legal alcoholic beverage, a Budweiser draft (yes, back then the drinking age was 18). Although I had been at Marist for a little more than a week, I still had that uneasy feeling in my gut, so common among 18-year-olds starting this new journey. Having my older brother there – and buying me a beer -- was a brief respite from this, and it kind of normalized the birthday for me.

Fast forward to 2017. Our oldest son, Joey, starts classes at Stony Brook University on Monday morning. Today, Sunday, is his 18^th birthday. He’s 130 miles away from home, on a new campus and a new dorm room. In 1982, we did not have the magic of cell phones, texting, Facetime, Twitter. So, although we are not there with him in person, we are able to wish him a Happy Birthday from afar. There were no trips to any Long Island pubs from his old man; alas, the drinking age is now 21. We wonder and fret if he is home sick, lonely, scared, as he marks his 18^th birthday at Stony Brook; he sounds OK over the phone. Dropping him off on Friday was a bit more emotional than even I anticipated. Of course, we are not the first parents (and kid) to feel this way; of all people, I should know this. But it’s one thing to witness it and counsel others and it’s another thing entirely to experience it. I suppose it’s all part of the parenting process – a never-ending journey that continues to provide new twists and turns with each passing day.

For more than a decade now, Joey hasn’t been one to “celebrate” his birthday in the traditional sense. Oh sure, he likes receiving gifts, especially of the monetary variety. But he doesn’t eat cake or other sweets; there would not have been 18 candles on anything today, had he been home to celebrate. So, getting all mushy over the kid not being here at home can seem a bit melodramatic. But still … it’s odd. Not having him around the house … it’s odd. It’s a new transition, for us as parents, for us as a family. The 18^th birthday, at the beginning of a new school year. Yeah. I remember that. Happy birthday, kid. We miss you.