Last weekend was the college graduation of my stepson, Derek. Much to my surprise, as the ceremony began, I teared up and thought I might even require emergency Kleenex. I definitely did some serious damage to my eyeliner and mascara. I don’t know what came over me exactly. Happiness, pride, relief, years of worry… But whatever it was, it sent me on a little trip down memory lane.


For being so smart and so talented, Derek was a reluctant student to say the least. As someone who made straight As in school and nearly had a stroke if I forgot a homework assignment, I just couldn’t relate to the attitude of “homework is optional” that was rampant in my new household. I look back on the various attempts I made to encourage good grades and sigh. The A and B bar was eventually lowered to “Just complete the assignments; I’m begging you.”

I remember our first Parent Teacher night. Robert and I were sitting at the lab table in Derek’s science class. The instructor was telling the parents about a student who was still receiving a zero every day – since the first day of school two weeks ago – because he had not put a cover on his text book.

As soon as the bell rang to change classes, we were in the hallway on the phone to Derek. His father asked, “Do you have a cover on your science book?” I knew what the answer was when I visibly saw Robert’s blood pressure elevate. My first parent teacher night and we were already the parents of the kid the teacher was using as an example. I threatened to buy a t-shirt that said “not genetically responsible” for future events.

What followed over the next 5-6 years was an all out assault on Derek as we tried to find someway to motivate him. We begged. We cried. We threatened. We cajoled. We made promises we knew we wouldn’t keep.

But then, it was over. He was accepted to a good college where he could pursue his life long ambition of becoming a sports journalist. Lord knows there was no escaping his being a sports fanatic. It was in his genes. And he’s good at writing. Really good. The whole thing is a no brainer.

Like most everyone, he had a bumpy start at college, but eventually got his feet under him and reports improved. When we saw Derek throughout the years, we noticed little changes. He was becoming more mature. More considerate. He was grasping the concept that what he does now will affect what he becomes. This last visit, he was even LOOKING FOR A JOB.

He’s worked hard and we’re all proud of the young man he’s become. He’s got his whole life ahead of him, and enough talent to go far. It’s up to him to make it happen, and there’s no doubt he will.


And when I get too sentimental about how grown up he’s become, I remind myself:

He still thinks the entire neighborhood wants to listen to his playlist.
He’s still the last one ready to leave the house for any occasion.
And he still acts as though taking the trash out is a fate worse than death.

So it’s going to be okay. No matter how mature he looks, he’s still our boy.


So, Derek, to steal a line from the note you wrote for your dad’s and my wedding, “It’s been great knowing you, and I know it’ll only get better.”



School is starting.

But not for me. No more urging a sleepy teenager out of the house at 7:15 a.m. and repeating all the way to school,



Are you talking?

Are you moving your lips?

Are you sure you’re moving your lips? 

Well, I don’t think you are.

Austin, enunciate!

Speak. Up!!”

Nope. No more of that. Or is there?

Austin registered for community college yesterday. I believe it’s going to be a rude awakening for him after attending HPISD, which is one of the highest ranked school districts in the nation. In fact, he returned yesterday from about 4 hours spent at his new campus and reported, “That place is run by monkeys.” Obviously, Austin has never experienced the DMV before, or he would have saved that descriptor.

I would tell you what he registered to take, but I can’t. I know it’s two classes, but the details are non-specific. Why? Please refer back to the “drive to school conversation” mentioned earlier. That same conversation took place last night.

Now, before I celebrate too much about NOT having a sullen, sleepy teen in the car with me each morning, I have to admit Austin has not yet acquired a driver’s license. His brother didn’t until after age 18 either. I think it’s an attempt to make us insane and/or prolong some fantasy they have about being chauffeured for the rest of their lives.

So, I may be driving him to college. Daily. (Or whenever his 2 classes are.) By the way, the more I type that I have to ask, 2 classes?? Really? Gee, don’t strain yourself.

At least that will make for good conversation as we head downtown together. I’m sure he’ll have something to say about that. If only I could understand him. Then again, maybe it’s better that I not.


In two weeks, my youngest stepson is graduating from high school. I feel Jurassic. This is the kid that was 9 when his dad and I married. I amused myself with the idea of people exclaiming, “You can’t possibly have a 9-year-old!” The truth was, I could easily have had a 9-year-old at that time; and a 12-year-old. Which is good, because that’s what I got. Full time 24×7 motherhood to a couple of boys who had little recent experience living with a woman. Especially a demanding, impatient woman with high expectations and a zero tolerance policy.

Poor things. I think we all suffered culture shock, and I’m not sure we ever got over it. But somehow we all muddled through. His older brother, Derek, is at Missouri, finishing his sophomore year. That brilliant “only for special occasions” brain is finally seeing daylight. He’s going to knock their socks off.

Austin thinks he’ll stick around next year and attend community college to get some basics completed. His father and I are not complaining. I never imagined myself suffering from empty-nest syndrome. Frankly, I’m surprised I haven’t been counting the days in anticipation of a house that has no dishes in the sink, no cabinet doors left open, and my sodas still in the fridge when I want one.

Instead, I remember those little boys on the wedding day in their tuxes. Their dad’s best men. I remember how Austin turned green and nearly fainted during the ceremony. (I TOLD him not to lock his knees.) I think about the times I forced them to watch old movies with me, or listen to my running commentary during the Academy Awards. School concerts and sporting events. Meetings with principals (too many) and teachers (way too many). Then there were the groundings, celebratory dinners and funerals.

It’s been a busy 8 years. So busy, in fact, I probably haven’t told them I think they’re amazing.

Best men, indeed.