When the Shift Happens
It started raining as we pulled onto campus. Not the dramatic kind—just steady, quiet, and enough to make everything feel a little heavier. It was my son’s first overnight band camp. He had to audition right away, and I could tell he was nervous—not just in the way he carried his trumpet, but in his energy. He was chatty, shifting from one thought to the next, trying to fill the space between comfort and the unknown. We made it to the warm-up room. Still nervous. Outside the audition door. Still nervous. He gave me a quick glance before he walked in—just enough to say, I hope I can do this. When it was over, we drove to the dorm: He filled me in on the feedback he was given. We unloaded the bags, and carried bedding three flights of stairs to his room. He met his roommate while I climbed up to make the top bunk. (Does anyone ever want to sleep in a loft bed?) And then—before I even stepped down—I could feel it. He was ready for me to go. He didn’t say it, but it was ther...