Fly, Robin, Fly*

A couple of nights ago, while walking our dog, we found a baby robin in our driveway. Apparently, the little guy had tumbled from his family home before he was quite ready to fly. As we approached him (her?), a cacophony of bird calls came at us from the arch of pine branches overhead. Several Robins flew back and forth as if to distract us from our investigation.

Realizing what we had encountered, we successfully diverted Brutus' attention from the the little ball of fluffy down and proceeded on our walk. When we got back, we put the dog inside and went back out to check on our little fledgling "wannabe." Again, as we approached, his "family" began to fly frantically back and forth above us while making lots of noise to frighten us away.

He was still huddled next to the cement border on our driveway, too little to get up over the border and into the cover of the shrubs and trees. So, much to the horror of the avian on-lookers, we worked together to give him a boost up onto the pine needle laden area below the trees. He was terrified, of course, as were the other birds who looked on. With our mission accomplished, we went inside and let them all be, leaving nature and the Robins to work out a "plan" for the little one who had moved on prematurely from his nest. (I never went back to check on him. I prefer to think of him as safely nestled under the shrubs, receiving food from his mom until he's ready to jump off the curb and take flight. Unrealistic perhaps, but I like it better that way.)

Waking the next morning, I found myself thinking about those birds. I am myself getting ready to send my own "fledgling" out into the big, wide world. And like many other human parents, I am looking forward to his adventure with a mix of pride, excitement, and trepidation. My "little one" is not leaving prematurely like the baby robin. My son is ready to go: He is emotionally and intellectually prepared to live away from his father and me. We are -- not so much! But we're workin' on it.

Luckily, unlike the family of robins who could only flap and flutter and squawk about their young one's first encounter with the wider universe, we are a bit better able to control some of the circumstances of our son's venture into young adulthood. We will escort him to his new home-away-from-home. And we will fit it out with supplies and amenities that will make him comfortable and give us a sense of control over his fledging.

We do understand that the acoutrements of his dorm room -- the new comforter, the reading lamp -- and the dorm security and the meal plan will not really protect him from some of the things that truly frighen his father and me: There are mean people in the world and he might meet some of them and get his feelings hurt. College is difficult and he might need to struggle through some of his classes. He could get sick or hurt or scared and we won't be there to help him.

So, like the robins, we are feeling a little frantic right now. But we like to think we've got it together somewhat. Our flapping, fluttering, and squawking is mostly internal and is mitigated by our trust in our son and the young man he has become. Like the birds who instinctually nudge their babies from the nest, we understand that nature requires that our young one receive encouragement as he stands at the edge of the nest. Notice here that I'm not mentioning the nudging. Our kid doesn't need the nudge. He's ready. But he does need us not to hold onto his feet as he flies away.

I'll let you know how that goes.

*From the 1975 song "Fly, Robin, Fly." Performed by "The Silver Convention," Written by Stephan Prager and Sylvester Levay