Since He was a Child

Ever since he was a child,

I had the sense, the good sense,

that I didn't need to intrude much.

He went his own way,

and I was needed only

for a bit of advice here,

some information there,

some questions of concern,

some good conversation.

Often times it was as if

I was talking to myself,

only thirty years younger.

This morning I got up early,

just in case he needed

to be awakened for his

first cross-country trip.

He didn't. His alarm

went off precisely at four,

and he was up and packing.

I hovered on the sidelines,

asking questions, but

he had already answered them.

He did humor me by taking

my offer of a jacket,

cause, "They are much

more formal there then we are here

and its much colder there, then here,

this time of year."

But that was the best advice

that I could offer because he had

thought of everything else.

His ride came and we said our good-byes

and he drove off into the morning darkness,

into his life and I was proud

of the arrow I had launched

and sad to be the bow

that's left behind.