Life is punctuated by defining moments, moments when life changed so profoundly that you can never forget where you were or what you wore or who you were with when they happened. My most recent moment came yesterday.
Hiram and I were talking to our son Allen on the phone. We were making plans for our pre-Christmas visit to his monastery. I can’t tell you where that is because the monks don’t want hoards of sightseers invading their quiet world. It takes them long enough to recover after the Philos drop in for a few days. So you’ll have to settle for an uncaptioned picture because other than that my lips are sealed.
Anyway, after a short discussion Allen said, “You know, we’d make the best use of our time if we go to Glenna’s Monday and then to Wooster on the way back. And if we take the interstate south, we’ll make much better time. Now, is the car going to be big enough for all of us?”
“Our son is an adult,” I realized as he took our itinerary into his own hands and tweaked them. Our son, who during high school hated to sit down for Sunday afternoon logistics meetings and sniffed disdainfully at anything that was not wholly spontaneous and free spirited, had become an event planner. For me, this was the mother of all defining moments. For the rest of my life I’ll remember it with delight. I’ll picture the black office chair, the oak desk, the thick coat of ice on the grass beyond the window.
And for the next few days, I’ll anticipate our upcoming visit with delight, too. I can’t wait to meet the young man I spoke to on the phone. My son, the adult.
