I must elaborate on the young bird flying from its nest. Of course, it is my perspective to believe the mother stands there on a branch, wings quivering in anticipation for the steps of the young one. She has prepared herself for this time on each preceding day in the life of her young . But her wings quiver, and the thought that she must fly out and under and scoop him up before he falls races through her head, stopped only by the urge to make him stronger, and need her less. In turn her breast swells with pride. He didn't hesitate, not once. In the next second, he has flown. He's gone. How did he do that so quickly without her patient, ready assistance? He soars, she doesn't flinch. Inside her she knows, he's grown. He's on his own and doing very well, thank you. 

In accepting the trip to Tupelo today, which wasn't actually the trip to Tupelo that needed accepting on my part, but the trip FROM Oxford: Tyler has lived in Oxford since he graduated high school. It has become a familiar place for us to know he is there, not far from home. He's been in school. I actually counted it up and he's been in school, in some form or fashion, since he was 3 years old. Yes, preschool began with a daycare for 3 year-olds and he was in the very first class offered at our high school. Preschool through Law School, what a trek. He's 27 now, minus 3, means he attended school for 24 years. Intelligent man, that Tyler. Persistent, too, which he didn't acquire from his mother. So I didn't feel funny until I'm sitting in the passenger seat, with some of his things and some of what he had of mine packed around me. We are leaving Oxford, Tyler bravely leading the caravan of truck, trailer, girlfriend with car packed full. I look down and realize I'm sitting there clutching his degrees tightly in my hands, as if they are going to jump out the window. It hits me, he's moving out of Oxford, he's OUT OF SCHOOL. He has graduated not once, but many times and I must see a grown man in his shoes now. I must not hold on. As we drove across the freshly rained on greenery of the Mississippi springtime, my wings quivered, but it was no use. There was absolutely no need for me to fly out, or scoop up to protect. I would look like an idiot for doing so. So I just sat there in that truck, watched Tyler's car crawling the hills and valleys in front of us, and  held on to those degrees for him, thanking God and praying for strength to still my quivering wings and accept his newfound freedom, and wish him well.


May the road rise to meet you,
May the wind be always at your back,
May the sun shine warm upon your face,
The rains fall soft upon your fields,
And, until we meet again,

May God hold you in the palm of His hand.

Irish Proverb