I Left My Son...

...Here

I left my son in San Francisco... my eldest son, that is. There are worst places to leave a son, like the side of the road, with a hug and a "good luck out there, you'll need it." That's not the SJG way. I'm a  Certified Enabler from way back. Next time you stop by, I'll show you my certificate. It's from the American Society of Shrinks Who've Treated The SJG. It's embossed and everything! So if I want to see him, an urge that only comes over me every few minutes, I must away to San Francisco. Away, away. Unless I stay, stay, and wait for him to visit me and the other peeps in my house. That's right, my house. It's their house, too, but for the purposes of this internationally-acclaimed blog, it is my house and they share it with me. Where were we? Oh, yes. To visit, he needs a reason. Or, as the French say, a raison. Par exemple, which, along with raison, is about all the college French the SJG can recall on short notice -- stop pressuring me, would ya? -- the wedding of a friend, for his friends are getting married now, or the birthday of a friend, for his friends keep getting older, despite their best efforts to stay 18. This weekend, he has summoned us. His girlfriend is away, and he is lonely. Most importantly, he misses me and the other two (hubby and his brother, the soon-to-be college graduate), on a deep level. Works for me. In my parenting travels, I've learned so much. What it comes down to is this: When they ask you to come, you go.