We all want to fit in, right?
Sure, no one wants to come from a cookie cutter. We want to be unique and stand out. Even when we say we don’t, we kind of do. I mean, at least that is what I suspect.
Even so, it’s good to belong and have a tribe.
It’s good to feel comfortable in your surroundings. To be able to sit down and go “I belong here. No one can question this.”
So, we took our son, Joey, to the airport last Wednesday. He flew out to Seattle to visit his big brother and returns Monday. It’s not like, a few months ago, when we took my older son, Zach, to the airport. He flew away to Seattle and stayed there. And then I had separation anxiety issues, basically broke down, and ended up going on medically supervised psychedelic trips to recover.
Although, I am pretty sure, as Joey has no real ties here, there is a good chance he will end up out there.
I nearly had a psychotic break when my kid who already lived 2 hours away moved across the country. Super curious how I’m going to react when my baby boy, who lives with us, does the same. I mean, if he does. I’m making things up now, but I’ve been living in the “making things up” space for a while now.
It’s not like I want Joey to stay here. I don’t. I truly want him go where ever he needs to be to thrive and be happy.
So far, the west coast has been more than Zach could have hoped for. He lives in a beautiful place. He’s kicking ass at his job. He calls me nearly every day with wonder in his voice at something beautiful he has seen.
I want the same for Joey, no matter what that means. No matter where he settles. But, I guess, my brain is not okay with the whole separation thing. I’m just saying, I’m not an overbearing mother who wants her children to stay by her side. Except for the part where I have panic attacks when they leave.
It’s exhausting being me.
But I digress.
After we dropped Joey off at the airport, we decided to go out for dinner.
We ended up at the Greyhound Tavern in Ft. Mitchell, KY.
I grew up close by and this place was usually referred to as the Greyhound Grill. It’s been there forever. I think Randy and I had been there together one other time in 28 years.
I remember it being a bit more casual, but we weren’t embarrassing or anything. I still had my work clothes on and Randy is just a snappy dresser. Seriously, he is often put together with no intention of leaving the house.
We got seated and looked at the menus.
I couldn’t see anything because the restaurant was kind of dark and I didn’t have my readers. But Randy could see the menu.
Randy: This is an old person place.
Me: What?
Randy: The sides on the menu look like what you would find in a nursing home.
Me: Ooooh…is there applesauce?
Randy: Seriously, look around. Other than staff, we are definitely the youngest people here.
Then, and I swear I am not making this up, an old lady fell down.
Here is how I know Randy is right in his assessment that the Greyhound Tavern is an old people place:
An old lady fell down and the reaction was pretty fucking bland. Like…oh, another old person fell down. My goodness, that happens here a lot.
Even the old lady on the ground was okay with it. I could hear her telling people she was fine and to just help her up. So they did. They helped her up, went to their table, and ordered dinner like troopers.
Randy: We are definitely in an old person place.
Me: Yeah? Well, I hate to break it to you, but we belong. We’re both over 60 now.
Randy:…
Me: It’s like when you start your senior year of high school. You see those incoming freshmen and they look like babies.
Randy:…
Me: We’re the freshmen.
Randy:…
Me: In this situation, it’s really best to be the freshman. I don’t think we’re going to fall down.
Randy: Have you met you?
Me: Fair.
I ordered the open face roast beef. My dinner came with a cup of cole slaw with some soda crackers on the side.
It was delicious.