His Father's Son

Do you ever wonder how much of a role your example plays in molding your children's lives? In my household, the answer seems to be, "a big one."

My son, John, graduated from Navy boot camp on Friday. When he joined the Navy, he followed in his father's footsteps. And while their motivations and paths have not been identical, they do have a lot of parallels.

Roland and John are both intelligent men who started college right after high school but dropped out in the  middle. Roland tried to juggle college with a full-time job, and the job won. John simply wasn't motivated.

Then they both joined the Navy. Roland joined during the Vietnam War, trained as a hospital corpsman, and was assigned to a Marine base in South Carolina for the remainder of his enlistment. John left for a Navy base in South Carolina on Saturday, and he will spend a year or more there training to be an "electrical technician" (working with the nuclear power that runs the aircraft carriers and submarines) before being assigned to a ship.

I'm hoping that their aftermath is similar, as well. Roland eventually returned to school and earned not only his bachelor's degree but also a master's degree and what Indiana calls a "Plus 30" (30 hours beyond a master's degree). One of John's goals in joining the Navy is to earn additional college credits and make use of the G.I.Bill to get a bachelor's degree.

If you think I'm feeling left out, you can stop. My daughter, Caroline, is her mother's daughter. But this is John's time to shine, so we'll leave the mother/daughter discussion for another day.

John is his father's son, and I'm beaming with pride.

Human Again

Nine months ago, my son enlisted in the Navy and signed up for a position with a waiting list. This week, he finally left for boot camp.

During the last four-and-a-half months John has been living at home because it made more sense than renewing his lease in September. Still, it interrupted the life Roland and I had as empty nesters.

Don't get me wrong. I love my children. I love it when they come home for a visit, and I love it when they return to their own lives.

That's because I also enjoy being alone with my sweetheart. And I feel more responsible for my children when they are living at home.

So I love being an empty nester. It makes me feel human again.

Well, not really. I've always felt human, so the "again" doesn't apply. But my return to empty nesting does have something in common with the furniture and the dishes in Walt Disney's Beauty and the Beast when they sing about being "Human Again."*

We'll be floating again

We'll be gliding again

Stepping, striding

As fine as you please

Like a real human does

I'll be all that I was

On that glorious morn

When we're finally reborn

And we're all of us human again!

Does any loving parent ever stop feeling responsible for his or her children? Probably not. But there comes a time when they have to be responsible for themselves. Roland and I raised our children to be independent, and being empty nesters is evidence of our success.

It's also evidence of our children's success.

Congratulations, John. We're proud of you.

_____

*"Human Again" lyrics by Howard Ashman.

They Must Really Mean It

You've probably seen the television commercials for the military. A young man stands by his father's truck, or a young woman talks to her mother in the kitchen. Both of them (the younger generation, not the parents) want to join the military. The commercials' tag line? "It's a big decision. Talk about it."

They must really mean it.

My 23-year-old son just enlisted in the Navy. And in spite of John's "advanced" age, the recruiter met with Roland and me at our home to answer our questions and make sure we understand what John will be doing for the next six or seven years. (Yes, six or seven. Keep reading to find out how I did the math.) Apparently the Navy requires the recruiter to hold this meeting within 72 hours after enlistment. It's not really a "buyer's remorse" period that lets John get out of it if we aren't happy with his choice, but the military does seem to be serious about communicating with parents.

The recruiter left his business card and asked us to call if we have any other questions. He said he would also check in with us occasionally.

John is going into nuclear engineering, which requires a six-year commitment: the first two just for training. Because they can only slot in so many people at a time, he's in a delayed entry program and may not even leave for boot camp until January. But he's already in indentured servitude.

I don't mean that negatively. After all, indentured servitude was a way for many European immigrants to pursue the American dream. It was a voluntary choice by people with a strong desire to come to America but no money to pay the fare. And yes, sometimes the conditions were atrocious, but the servitude was a means to an end, and the end was freedom in this country.

Back in the present, I am using the term to describe the many rules and regulations John must comply with long before he enters active service. No drugs (works for me), no getting into trouble with the law (also works for me), and staying physically fit (or becoming more physically fit). He has to attend one meeting a month, stop by the recruiting office a second time during the month, and check in by telephone every week. He also has to sign a document each month that says he stayed clean and out of trouble. All that, and he isn't even getting a paycheck yet! But I'm guessing that it will be worth it.

Actually, I find the entire process reassuring. The military may be a strict parent, but it also appears to be a considerate one.

And that's just what I want for my son.