Busy Spring

Spring is here, and an old newspaper man’s fancy turns to thoughts of a good night’s sleep. Young men are welcome to their thoughts of love. I’ve got mine.
The spring is easily my busiest time of year, what with preferential primary elections and all the campaigning they engender, end-of-year activities at the schools, baseball and softball tournaments, not to mention the regular stuff that occupies me on a daily basis, like school board, city council and other government entity meetings, advertising and composing work, and all the other folderol of the newspaper business.
I don’t have time for thoughts of love. My wife and I have to make appointments to have dinner together.
Just last week, for example, I was so busy on Wednesday that I didn’t have time to run over to the school for the Class of 2002’s senior day. I always try to be around for that just so I can tell that year’s crop of seniors how glad I am to be rid of them. After 13 years, I’m pretty much tired of taking their pictures. I always tell them, “I wish you well in whatever you decide to do with the rest of your lives, but for heaven’s sake, don’t ask me to take your picture anymore. I’m sick to death of the sight of you.” I’m kidding, of course, but you can’t start letting people that age go around thinking they’re important. It isn’t good for them.
Spring used to be the season I looked forward to the most. Not only would I be working with a baseball team of some description, but I could get back to the water for my much treasured therapy, fishing. My coaching days are apparently over, however, and fishing has pretty much been reduced to running out to the pond behind my house for a couple of hours once a week.
But enough about my problems. At least I don’t have the sniffles anymore like I used to every spring.
My heart goes out to the parents of the Class of 2002, especially if their senior also happens to be their youngest child. Both them and their kid are in for a lot of big changes. But parents, whatever you do, don’t let them move back in once you get them out of the house. If you do, they’ll hang around like Spanish moss, until they either cause you to die of embarrassment or bankrupt you. I wish I could say that was an original thought of mine, but it comes from a play by Sherwood Anderson.
I well remember when my youngest hit the road. He still comes back on a regular basis since he works for me two days a week. But he is no longer a permanent resident of the family domicile. He has a place of his own.
When he first left for college in St. Louis, the empty nest syndrome hit like a ton of bricks. My wife and I kept wandering around the house looking for somebody else to be there. It got to be that whenever we came home, we’d quote an old movie cliche’: “It’s quiet, too quiet.”
Unfortunately, I don’t have any words of wisdom to offer about dealing with an empty nest. You’ll miss the kid, no matter how much of a pain they were while they were around. You might consider getting re-acquainted with your better half. Most likely, you haven’t had a lot of time for each other since you started keeping pet children, 18 or so years ago. You just might have cause to remember why you got married in the first place. Odds are, you were rather fond of each other.