Moving Sale, Processing Trauma, Green-Tinted 60s Valentine

We’re three days away from loading up a rented UHaul with my oldest’s things and moving them down to their new apartment in Indianapolis. This has been their plan since last fall, when they told the wife and I. It’s not that I didn’t believe it was going to happen, it’s just that when they told us their intentions waaay back in late summer/early fall of 2023 the spring of 2024 still seemed like a lifetime away. We still had plenty of time to do things together; see movies, have dinner, talk about work, hear about concerts they wanted to go to, etc…But now that we’re at THE week, I have to admit I’m a little sad.

I’ve been bringing home boxes so they could pack all their stuff up, and most of it is packed. My parents bought them a brand new queen size mattress set so they don’t have to take the same twin size bed they’ve been sleeping on for a few years now(my oldest is like 6’1″, so this queen size is a welcome change.) We in turn bought a new couch and chair as we are offering up our sectional for the new place. They can only use two of the four sections as the whole couch would be too big(so hey, if any one wants half a sectional I can hook you up.)

If you’re lucky your kids grow up relatively decent humans and leave the nest, their developed wings flapping them to adulthood and to the relative safety of a fulfilling life. These are the moments as parents that you have to just sit by, offer support, and do nothing watching them struggle in the breeze. Your hope is they catch that slipstream, open their wings wide, and glide to the next phase on their own. And I guess if their wings crumple and they nosedive to the curb you can scoop them up, nurse their wounded wings and pride, and help them work it out for the next solo flight. It hurts to see them hurt, but if they don’t feel that pain – literally and emotionally – then they’ll never appreciate those pain-free moments. When it works out for them.

Our middle child crumpled and hit the curb hard back in September, and she’s just now feeling strength back in her wings. Yes, you’ve heard about it; the ex that took their(her) dog with him when he moved out of their apartment and back into his parents. The loss of that, the loneliness, the feeling of betrayal, and the subsequent waste of time that was the small claims court fiasco that accomplished nothing other than a judge belittling two barely adults for “shacking up”. Then there was finding a new dog named Celeste, adopting her, and feeling that love all over again. Of course, there has been a learning curves with Celeste. Most of which involved separation anxiety and lots and lots of shitting in her kennel. November, December, and January was lots of cleaning up, but she’s making huge strides.

Our 20-year old called Sunday and asked if we could come over. She was feeling overwhelmed and sad, so we took food over and had dinner over there. She seemed fine, but my wife offered to stay the night anyways. The next morning driving Celeste to her obedience training class our kiddo broke down and told my wife that she was just now processing the whole year-long shit show that was living with her ex. The immature breakdowns, the manipulation, the controlling behavior, and his utter lack of self awareness. And of course him taking the one thing in her life she cared about more than anything(including him), her dog Frankie.

I’m not gonna lie, folks, if I ever see this kid in public I can’t promise I won’t choke him out and put him in the trunk of my car. I’m not a violent person, but there’s a part of me that stays dormant most of the time. It’s there despite never taking action. It has popped up few times in my life, and when it does it’s not pretty. As a 50-year old living quietly and comfortably, I don’t want to do anything to threaten that comfort. But for this kid? Look out.

I’m just hoping he’ll remain a complete burnout incel living in his parents house playing online shoot ’em ups and never not stoned enough to work for a living. Maybe he’ll tempt fate once again and drive with his entire stash of weed in his barely road-legal pick up and get pulled over. Then maybe law enforcement can do something besides completely disappoint me.

A fella can dream.

Wednesday is Valentine’s Day. It’s a Hallmark holiday designed for those folks that 364 days out of the year are clueless to their partner’s wants and needs and seemingly making up for that fact by buying flowers that will wilt and die and a crappy box of chocolates. Presenting these objects like a cat presenting a dead rat at the feet of its owner, said clueless partner feels vindicated of a years-long worth of zero self awareness and un-attentive partnering.

I think that’s the gist of it, right?

Regardless of its consumerist beginnings, I do buy my wife flowers. It’s not that I’m not an attentive and caring partner. I am. But any excuse to do something nice for my wife I take it. After the last year we had we could both use some pampering. This year’s Valentine’s Day we’re heading to the great metropolis Wabash to the Honeywell Center to see Mr. Big. Yes, this trip is more about me. While my wife did commandeer my Mr. Big t-shirt in high school(washing it with something red, turning it’s white to a more mauve), I don’t think she was as big a fan as I was. She did like “Green Tinted Sixties Mind”(it was a great song, so who could blame her?)

Me? I’m going so I can see one of my favorite guitarists do his thing live. Mr. Paul Gilbert has been a guitar hero of mine since I was 15. Loved him in Racer X, and then of course in Mr. Big. I wasn’t all that into the ballad-y stuff(“To Be With You”, anyone?), but the interplay between Gilbert, Billy Sheehan on bass, and Pat Torpey on drums was amazing. And Eric Martin had a damn good voice. They were a power house power pop/rock band.

I saw Paul Gilbert a couple months before the debut Mr. Big album came out in May/June of 1989 at Music Spectrum in Fort Wayne. He did a guitar clinic there, so my brother and I’s guitar teacher drove us as well as a few other of his students to see it. It was amazing. Gilbert is this totally down to earth guy that is a wizard of the fret board. He even played the backing tracks to “Addicted To That Rush” on a 4-track and played along on the guitar, basically debuting the opening song for a crowd of wannabe shredders and their mildly bored parents.

So yeah, for $52(including fees) I got two tickets to, while not paradise, a concert that will certainly thrill the 15-year old me that still resides in my head and heart. So this year, my wife is getting me roses in the form of Mr. Big. How sweet. Oh, and there’s also sushi from Ninja Express in Wabash. Worth the trip alone.

It’s been kind of a heavy week emotionally, but we’ll get through it. When I hear about other families we knew from our kids going to school together and how their kids are struggling or pregnant – or struggling and pregnant – I feel pretty lucky to see our kids are doing pretty well. We all struggle, and life can be a real asshole sometimes but as long as we’re there for each other and are understanding I think we can figure this shit out. I have no idea what next year will be like – or next week for that matter – but as long as we get through today then we’ll do our best regarding tomorrow.

At least tomorrow we’ve got expensive flowers, sushi, and Paul Gilbert to look forward to.