Even though he got lost in the sporting goods store when we stopped in to buy him a back pack, I am not nervous about sending my 21-year old son to Europe next week.
I refuse to worry that, other than attending a four-week class in Croatia, he has absolutely no plans for his summer there and very few available funds beyond those he will charm from us.
Even his blithe messages have not rattled me yet.
“Check out this WWOOF site!,” he emailed and, after Googling WWOOF, I scrolled through the quaint site of a working sheep ranch where residents can sleep on hale bales under the stars.
“You’re going to sleep on a hay bale?” I responded.
“Don’t they look awesome!”
“Totally,” I wrote. “But you do have asthma…”
“I’m so stoked!”
He came home yesterday to prepare for the two months he will spend wandering across the pond. I found him cheerfully sitting at the kitchen table, laptop open, directions to my international cellphone spread out before him.
“How do you work this?” he said.
“Can I borrow this?” he asked later, dragging my giant purple suitcase up the stairs.
“I guess,” I said.
Then, we talked money.
“So, turns out the bank needs more than a day’s notice to get me Euros,” he said.
“Right,” I said. “So, what are you going to do?”
“I’ll just pick some up in Chicago,” he said.
“It’ll be fine,” he said.
I vetoed his first plan for communication outright.
“You can text me for free, so you just text me ‘Are You OK?’ and, if I don’t respond, you’ll know I’m good.”
Instead, he has agreed to text me the name of whatever town he crashes.
Perhaps I should be more anxious about sending a kid off to Europe whose only real preparation has been a website subscription to nomadicmatt.com. Currently, though, I’m at peace with his journey and so excited for the adventures he’ll have.
I told him this as we shopped for the backpack.
And then he smacked right into an enter only door.