Who’s Never Left Home, Who’s Never Struck Out?
Picture this: A bright-yet-cool, crack-of-dawn summer morning in the Pacific Northwest. Mom’s Dodge Intrepid packed with various dorm essentials. She turns on the car, I roll down the windows, and with Dixie Chick’s “Wide Open Spaces” blaring, we zipped out of the driveway at a slightly dangerous speed. And I was on my way. We drove 2 days to Southern California—Mums, totally emotional and crying to Suzy Bogguss’s “Letting Go” while I pretended to sleep, and me, totally terrified with a knotty stomach ache. And then? And then the fun began! On August 19, orientation at Oxy started. Aside from a super scary roommate and a terrifying moment of "OMG, is Mums just going to DRIVE AWAY and leave me?!" life permanently changed. On that August day I met so many of my now-super-dear friends—Nancy, Lauren, Meghan, Haley, Greg—and a day or two later, I met a very handsome fellow named Christopher. Well, 3 short years later, Chris finally asked me out. And 3 ½ short years after that, the dude asked me to marry him. And 3 years after that, we reproduced. And 6 months after that, on the morning of August 16, 2010, I found myself driving a very sensible SUV with a “Baby On Board” sticker along the country roads of Maryland on my way to daycare and work. Ten years? I thought, listening to my baby girl in the backseat practice making her “agoo” sounds. How have 10 whole years gone by? Then I realized that somewhere in the mishmash of a decade, I got a college degree, a graduate degree, a couple different jobs, and lived in four different states. And obviously, I found me a husband and birthed a child. So, you know. It’s not like I just sat there for a decade, twiddling my thumbs and feeding my cats, remembering the glory days of high school. No, I got a few things done. Some comparisons:
Then: Reading feminist theory. Now: Reading parenting books. Then: My mom could go through airport security and blubber at the gate. Now: She can’t. She had to raise hell just to help me through with all the baby gear in March. Then: I had never eaten sushi. Now: I have favorite kinds of sushi! Then: I didn’t think I’d find somebody I could tolerate for a week, let alone the rest of my days. Now: ‘Til death do us part with Chris. And I’m actually happy about it!
In high school, it seemed as though August 16th would never come. As we started applying to and (oh, thank goodness) getting accepted into colleges, I was filled with happy sense of expectation. Finally, things were going to change. My friend Julie and I would listen to Dixie Chicks a trillion times, each time saying, "It's getting closer! Soon, we'll be GONE!"
Don't get me wrong. I'm not saying I had a crap childhood or anything like that. I was just ready to go, ready to see what was outside the Quah, ready to find my own way, ready to start just being me instead of being raised. You know?
So August 16th was the magic date. That final summer, as I worked at Bartell Drugs (to this day, I hate drugstores), my code to unlock the cash register to ring up some old guy's Preparation H was "0816." 08/16. August 16th. I just had to make it to August 16th . . . .
So. Ten years. And yes, not too far in the back of my mind, I fantasize about pulling out of our Poolesville driveway with the Hyundai packed with dorm crap, my Charlotte rolling down the window, and the two of us belting that oldie but goodie "Wide Open Spaces" as we start the 5-day drive.
To Southern California.
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