Time to fly away

My baby boy is packing for his very first trip on his own.

Well, he’s actually not a baby. He’s almost 14 years old.

And he’s not really packing his own suitcase. If I hadn’t stepped in, he would not have packed any underwear or a toothbrush.

And I guess he’s not really on his own as the airline is very kindly letting us pay them $100 to escort him to and from his gates and during his connection.

It still feels like I’m sending my little boy off on his own. A real adventure probably.

He is about to spend two weeks with his grandfather in Panama. Not Panama City, Florida; no, he’s going to Central America for two weeks without his parents or siblings, to spend time with relatives that will undoubtedly spoil him to their own exhaustive death.

I hope he has a great time and doesn’t want to come back. I also hope he misses me just a little bit. But mostly I want him to have some adventures, learn more about his Latin heritage, learn enough Spanish to impress his Spanish teacher in the fall, try some new foods, get in the water, play some golf, meet lots and lots of relatives. And most of all, spend some precious time with his grandfather that he doesn’t get to see very much.

I wish I could go with him just so that I can know about every little thing he’s going to do and learn. Of course, it really wouldn’t be an adventure if mom was there, so I am glad that he’s doing this on his own. But I wish there was some way I could spy on him from my own living room. I guess I’ll just have to trust that he’s going to want to share his adventures and tell lots of stories when he returns.

It’s either that or check Facebook every few minutes to see what his latest status update is. Hmm, I hope my dad’s computer is working OK.

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