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The Undeniable Appeal of Launching Two Children Into Space
On the weight and weightlessness of parenting
The elementary school where my son, Avery, and my daughter, Aurora, go sends fifth graders on an overnight trip to Kennedy Space Center in Cape Canaveral, Florida. The students sell T-shirts and candy bars and wrapping paper to raise money for the trip, with parents kicking in the rest when reservations are due. This trip is a milestone of sorts, and one Avery has anticipated since he was in third grade.
He decided that I’d go with him on this overnight trip, and that we’d eat space ice cream. He decided we’d sit together on the bus, but that was in third grade, and even then I told him that he’d likely change his mind before the trip, and that I’d be OK with him changing his mind.
I won’t be OK with his changing his mind, but I can’t tell Avery that I won’t be OK with his changing his mind.
On the first day of fifth grade, Avery allowed me, Shaun, and Holly to take pictures of him holding a sign that read “Today is my first day of fifth grade.” Avery wore a green polo shirt and skinny jeans. Only in the last year had Avery begun to voluntarily put on jeans, and he did it so infrequently that we didn’t question his decision to wear jeans to school on a day when the forecast called for…
