A big step in many families is when children go off to college. This poem is a reflection on my son’s first day at college. He had written a poem regarding looking at the heavens and commanding the stars.

My son moving into his freshman dorm

I watch the stars tonight and listen.
The same stars you command to streak and to speak.
And they are different this night.
They speak of endings and beginnings.
Of doors closing and of millions of others opening.
So many wonderous possibilities.
I struggle for words
To tell you how I feel.
All the clichés apply
Analogies, fallacies… realities:
Leave the nest, passed the test, get no rest,
I remember when…
You were young then…
Pitcher, catcher, homerun hitter.
New school, new friends, new life…
The cycle starts again.
Each time stronger, wiser…
It never ends.
Mostly I feel joy for you
Your excitement splashes on me
And your new room and new life.
I expected sadness for the loss.
For the son gone.
But instead I feel the world so full of new things.
Of possibilities abounding for you…and me.
I feel so much pride
For the wonderful soul you are.
Not for the heights you will reach
But for the hearts you will touch.
And if there is sadness
It is not about loss or Should’ves or Could’ves.
You are perfect the way you are.
No–the sadness comes
When I think of my parents
Who never got to see you become the man you are.
They missed so much:
The scholar, the athlete, the independent soul.
“The secret of life is enjoying the passage of time”
I think I am catching on.
Each cycle of life brings its own challenges.
Its own ups and downs.
You’ve help me cherish the path so far.
Paths, passages, potentialities, possibilities.
You help me know that everything is possible.
But life is just right… Just perfect.
Here and now.
Some decry, or sigh, or lie
About the youth they see pass
As their children become.
You show me constantly
That it’s not youth
But love and wisdom
That lasts… and protects
…and comforts and gives us our truth.
Simply by being
You excite, you ignite my soul.
It’s not a struggle, a fight, a flight.
From fear or pain.
But a dance with all things
That quickens or slows… or stops sometimes.
All the dance perfect and necessary
For us here and now.

by: Dr. Christopher Mathe, PhD.