We took the #1 son out to dinner tonight. It was the last Hillbilly family supper. Never again will it be the same, our close-knit unit. It will be different when I sit beside him and dodge his steak-cutting elbows as they airplane their way into my personal space. Here's a little secret that I've been keeping from you. I love that boy to pieces.
Even two days ago, when he was packing his box of bedding that we purchased from the college to give them an even higher profit margin. Telling him the function of the various linens. Assuring him that the whitish discoloration on the striped sheet after washing was nothing to worry about, George Costanza, it's not like it appeared on your upper lip when everything was going so well for you. It's not my faulty washing techniques, what with me being a newbie to this laundry business. Sometimes, you get what you pay for. And even though the set was much cheaper than items we could have purchased individually from The Devil's Playground, it is possible that these sets contain factory seconds. Sweet Gummi Mary! Be thankful that I did not get your sheets from an insurance salvage store. I have connections. Yes, I forgive my precious #1 son for making me laugh so hard that I could not speak. I even forgive him for asking if I was having a stroke. I know he was only looking out for my health.
I know he will march off onto that college campus tomorrow and take the world by storm. He's always been a go-getter. Never met a stranger. From the time he was four, walking off through the pitch black path between patches of Hillmomba forest, from the Mansion to the BARn, with only a tiny flashlight, in search of his dad. He has no fear.
His kindergarten teacher knew right away that he was special. Referred him for gifted testing. He was upset because he didn't know the answer to two questions. They were the only two he missed on the whole test. His teacher knew. She stopped by my building after school a couple of times a week. To apologize because she was afraid he was upset by something she had done. And she, a seasoned veteran. I didn't have the heart to tell her he complained about the special table assignment she gave him, right beside the incubator and eventually-hatched chicks. A seat any other kindergartener would have begged for. "All day long, it's CHEEP CHEEP CHEEP! I am so sick of listening to those chicks!"
Yes, he was a teacher-pleaser. Like on the first day of MAP testing in third grade. He jumped out of bed, rubbed his eyes, and ran to get dressed. "I can't believe the day I've been waiting for all my life is finally here!" He had a magnificent public-school career. Always raising the district's scores, fixing the gifted teacher's computer, hooking up audio-visual and computer gadgets, leading the academic team, the math team, the robot team, winning the local science fair every year in his category, earning Best in Fair and a college scholarship his sophomore year. Not to mention all of his honors that I've mentioned most recently over the past couple of year. If our district, comprised of Elementia, Basementia, and Newmentia, had their own school dictionary, the #1 son would be pictured right next to SUCCESS.
I really find it hard to believe that after dinner tonight, during our brief embrace on the Farmer-H-made brick sidewalk between garage and Mansion, when I said I did not want him to go...that #1 did NOT say, "Okay, Mom. I'll stay home and live in your basement." Can you believe it?
Please pardon my bragging. I am so very proud of that boy. Did I mention that I love him to pieces?
Excuse me. I have many, many knots to untie in my apron strings tonight.