On Being a 30-Year-Old Child

My mom flew out with me to Boston about a month ago. Two weeks ago, my dad joined us to both check out my living arrangements and make sure that my brother was getting settled in smoothly. Today, both mom and dad flew back to California. Upon dropping them off at the airport, I was immediately struck with a feeling of loss. I don't know who started crying first, but I totally lost all composure when I saw my father, whom I've never once seen cry, get teary-eyed and speechless. I was in tears driving back home, and cried for about an hour after. I thankfully had plans to meet up with a friend tonight, so I didn't let myself sit in sadness all evening. But even now, I'm writing with a lump in my throat.

I feel slightly embarrassed at myself for feeling so emotional about saying bye to mom and dad. This is worse than when they dropped me off for college. Actually, even worse than when they first sent me to pre-school, because according to them, I skipped off to school without so much a glance backwards. Obviously, this is different. I'm now on the opposite side of the country, and will be living here indefinitely. For now, while I'm only starting my career, I can't assume that this move is only a temporary stopover. I really am setting out on my own for the first time in my life.

But the thing is, I'm actually really excited about starting my new job and living in my own place. As much as I enjoyed having mom and dad stay with me these last weeks, I was thinking how nice it would be to claim all of my space and determine my own routine. As if hosting my parents in my modest apartment were like an extended family road trip, I even found myself getting testy with my parents and welcoming functions at school just so I could get some me-time.

So the sadness I'm feeling isn't really about fear of being on my own. It's actually about just the opposite. I'm realizing that my being able to be on my own is largely because of all that my parents have given me. I could not buy my new home if it weren't for my father, who helped me with the downpayment. I could not settle into my new home if it weren't for my mother, who helped me paint my walls, assemble my furniture, and kept me company while I tried to figure out the city. And it is because of both of their patience and unconditional support that I was able to make it through my graduate program and allow myself the freedom to search nation-wide for my first tenure-track position. There are parents who, either consciously or not, prevent their children from fully pursuing their aspirations. I am exceedingly lucky to have parents who work every minute of their lives to ensure that my brother and I are able to pursue ours, even if that means that we won't be nearby enough to take care of them.

But it's not a sense of filial guilt that's making me weepy. I very simply like being near my parents. I love them as my parents and like them as people. I credit them for instilling in me attributes that I take the most pride in. So when I say that I will miss them, it really means simply that.

I suppose I should just remind myself that my family has always been superb at keeping in touch. Tonight, when I stepped out of South Station, I got a brilliant view of fireworks from downtown. I have no idea what the occasion was, but I can't wait to tell mom and dad about it.