Our younger son, a high school senior, turned 18 years old last week.
For the first time in 23 years, his mother and I have no minor children. I’m still processing what that means in the short run. In the long run, it means being one step closer to an empty nest — a thought that gives me no joy.
When asked what he wanted for his birthday, our soon-to-be 18-year-old said, “A tool belt.”
Not a subwoofer. Not the “College Football 25” video game. Not a Morgan Wallen concert ticket. But a tool belt.
Attaboy.
