This One Time, At Band Camp

To measure the passing of time, I look at my children, and my friends’ children. The oldest of those kids have already gone off to college. When I hear about them or see them I am always amazed. Amazed in that that holy-shit-we-are-getting-old sort of way.

The passage of time is not linear. It’s exponential. Moving faster and faster every year.
Like a runaway train. Gaining momentum and barreling toward the tunnel of mortality.

Mildly depressing? Perhaps.

This happens to me every year in August. But this summer seems to be rushing by like no summer before it. Already more of it behind us than ahead.  All too soon we will be back to our Septembers.

But before September, there is band camp. My Maggie is going to band camp.

She is going away.  Away from me!  For days. And nights! To band camp.  And we all know what happens at band camp. Things happen at band camp. Scary things!

Things like gaining independence, forming lasting meaningful friendships, moving closer to adulthood. Things like growing into a person of strength and character who can stand on her own two feet. Sigh.

When I put her on that bus, I know I will see the 4 year old that I walked into pre-school looking up at me. Ohhh, the tears that were shed on that day. (All mine.)

Then there will be tortuous days of worrying and waiting for texts to let me know she is alive and well. Her one-word answers like ‘Yup’ and ‘Kk’ offering little relief to my unrealistic anxiety.

And I imagine that when I meet her at the bus at the end of the trip, she will be a grown woman, running at me with a pair of scissors, ready to cut the apron strings once and for all.

Mildly dramatic? Perhaps.

But that time-train keeps on rolling.   And sometimes it looks very much like a bus to band camp.

 

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