I locked my son inside our house the night before sophomore year. I thought I was saving him.
The kitchen light in our house always came on before the sun did. I liked it that way. I liked knowing where everyone was, what the day looked like, whose lunch was in whose bag.
« Mom. I’m fine. »
That fall, Lucas started freshman year, and I told myself I would be the kind of mother who stayed close. My sister Renee said I was already too close. I told her she didn’t have a teenager yet, so she didn’t get a vote.
Lucas came down from his room above the front porch that first morning with his hair sticking up and a smile that hadn’t learned to be embarrassed yet.
« Big day, » I said. « Did you pack the folder I laid out? »
« Yeah, Mom. »
« And your water bottle? The blue one, not the leaky one. »
