"The apple doesn't fall far from the tree," my father has said over the years.
The truth of that saying is apparent in the first fruit of my labor -- my son David.
Don't take my word, though. Check out his columns on "The Scene" -- you can get there through www.thesaratogascene.com or find The Scene at www.saratogian.com under the entertainment tab. His self-deprecating humor wrings familiar and true.
Critics, be forewarned: His column is not nepotism. It's more like parent abuse.
David's been writing lately about what it's like to be an underemployed college graduate living at home with two people who are alternately referred to as his R.A.s, housemates and wardens.
I intend to write a counter-column from my perspective. As soon as it's funny.
My parents couldn't understand why I was in "such a hurry" to live on my own after college. I can't understand why my son isn't.
My father still shakes his head at my decision not to live in my old room in Voorheesville while working at my first job. I could have lived "at home" and saved money, like my smarter siblings subsequently did.
Snagging a job straight from grad school gave me the economic freedom to find my own place. (Full disclosure: My parents generously took on my school loan and gave me their old car, free and clear.)
It's true, I was in a hurry to not live at home. I wanted the freedom to come and go as I pleased.
I still do.
I look forward to re-experiencing my version of the "empty nest syndrome."
I think David is looking forward to being able to strike out on his own, too. One day I lost my temper and told him I would start charging him rent. When I texted him later that day about whether he'd be home for dinner, he texted me back, "What will it cost?"
My husband and I say David's job is to find a job. I hope it involves writing, because he seems to enjoy it and is good at it. And I'm not saying that just because I'm his housemate ... er, warden ... I mean, editor ... that is, his mother.