The Chicago Bulls were about to win their first of six NBA championships.  George H.W. Bush would be elected President in a matter of months. And my son was going off to Syracuse University.

And now here we are.  His 25th high school reunion a few weeks away.


He’s almost a middle aged man.  And I’m . . . well, I’m en route to a senior citizens’ home.  Still, my memory is in tact, and the details of my 25th reunion are as “fresh” as I was at the time.

I strutted into the Friday evening party like a diva about to prance on stage.  All gussied up in a white pant suit and a black stretchy halter top.  No bra required.  (My, how things have changed!)

For me, the reunion validated the person I’d become.  A teacher turned writer.  A wife for the second time around.  A mother of a teenager who was . . . okay, so I didn’t have that one down yet but was really, really trying.  (That Parent Effectiveness Training workshop I took didn’t always do the trick.)

And now that teenager is all grown up.  I wonder how he’ll feel when he walks into the Friday night cocktail party.  Pleased with the path his journey has taken?  Unfulfilled? Just damn happy to be alive?  (Did I mention the automobile accident in which he drove his car into a tree, broke his back and just missed severing his spine?)

It’s been a wild ride for him and for me.  (BTW, it was his dad’s new Lexus that he totaled.)

It’s hard to fathom that it’s been twenty-five years since my son managed to get his high school diploma and waltzed off to Syracuse University.  I remember crying every time I passed his empty bedroom or heard a song he loved.

Then about three weeks in, I woke up and realized that I was free—free from pushing him to finish his homework, filling out college applications, making curfew, not driving into another tree.

(In retrospect, the joke was on me.  I wasn’t really free.  “Out of sight, out of mind” didn’t apply.)

Where has the time gone?  Twenty-five years and counting.  Each day here and gone faster than the one before.

Hopefully, I’ll be around for my son’s 50th high school reunion.  If not, I hope he has one hell of a good time!