The Room Is Quiet

Written on August 17, 2022

We moved our oldest son into college this week. Eighteen years at home and now he spreads his wings into the next big chapter of his life. My wife shed tears on the drive to and from campus. I played the role of a proud dad well - helped get the dorm situated, put money in his account and hugged him when we headed out. I kept my tears at bay on the four-hour drive back to Houston and told my wife how happy I was with how the move worked out.

Until we got home, and I visited my son's now vacant bedroom.

Plenty of memories remain as I sit and look around the room. There are trophies, posters and ribbons that represent both academic and athletic achievements. There are a collection of worn-out sneakers, slippers and dress shoes that won't be needed on the first day of college this fall. There's a made-up bed with several used gift cards left on the nightstand - likely leftovers from graduation and birthday gifts earlier this year.

There are baseball cleats, mitts and caps. They remind me of all the years playing catch, visiting the batting cages and framing pitches in the backyard. They remind me of the end of his senior year when he was recruited back on the high school team after 3-4 years away from the dugout. They remind me how he worked his way off the bench first as a pinch hitter and eventually into a starting outfielder by season's end.

There's more than one homecoming garter hanging on the walls. They represent the evolution from sports and video games into friendship, relationships and learning to become a gentleman. They represent girls and hanging out and dates. They represent dressing up and wearing a tie - even if he still needs help to tie it.

There are certificates for academic all-state swimming, National Honor Society and work anniversaries at HEB. They remind me how that little boy matured into a young man with his studies, discipline and early working career. School work and employment aren't always the most exciting activities, but he learned to apply himself in all those areas successfully.

There's a signed basketball from his high school team on his desk and numerous awards for his leadership and skill on the basketball court. I'm reminded how I watched my son grow from a contributing freshman into an outstanding senior captain on both ends of the court. I think about the countless hours of basketball in the driveway, rebounding for him as he practiced shooting and the point where his quickness eclipsed the basketball wisdom of his much older dad. I remember halftime of his last game as a high school senior when he expressed disappointment in the direction of the game because he knew how much he set the tone for the rest of his team. I remember the angst in his voice as he embraced carrying the weight and responsibility of the team on his shoulders. In several moments like this, I watched my son realize his potential and seize the moment. And I remember the compliments from other parents throughout the season as we all shared a similar sentiment - we like to watch him play.

There's a stack of number cards from Whataburger on his dresser that somewhere a manager is missing from his inventory. And there's visible dust on shelves - both humorous reminders that boys will still be boys.

There's plenty here to remind me of all the ups and downs that come with raising a son. My oldest son and I shared a strong bond since his earliest age. It made me glad when he started looking up to his coaches and other mentors over the years. But he always had dad there to encourage, provide tips and keep track of stats. He had dad there to answer questions, help with homework, iron his shirt and put money in his account.

As he got older and more independent, he'd always let me know where he was going and who he was with. And now he's taking the next step in life and this dad is equal parts proud and sad at the same time.

I know he will be back - but it will never be quite the same way it was. That's how it should be. He'll continue to spread his wings and experience all the necessary life lessons. I'll encourage him every step of the way. And periodically I'll come sit in his room, recount all the memories and shed a few tears of joy mixed with sadness.

His bedroom is a scrapbook that tells a wonderful story about a wonderful young man. There's just one tiny issue.

The room is quiet. I miss the noise.