When sunshine takes flight…
Today, I did something I never thought would come so soon: I walked my oldest sunshine, Langston, to the gate for his first flight alone. He’s headed to Atlanta for the summer, soaking up sunshine, adventure, and a little bit of that Southern charm.
Middle school is officially behind us—at least for now. I’m marveling at the journey Langston has taken to arrive at this moment.
He graduated middle school with straight A’s and a heart full of music—our resident cellist who’d rather get lost in classical sonatas and movie scores than scroll through social media. While most kids his age would be anxious about leaving behind friends or devices, Langston’s biggest concern was who would care for all his plants while he’s away.
The day of his flight, he wore a blazer lined with math equations, a tie, dress pants, and—for good luck—Emerson’s dinosaur backpack slung across his shoulder. No sneakers this time. Just intention, style, and that quiet sense of knowing he was stepping into something new.
He’s 14 now. Watching him prepare made me realize just how grown he’s become. It’s in the way he folds his tie with care. The way he triple-checks his boarding pass. The way he calls me “Ma” in that calm, steady voice that always makes me pause.
After graduation, Langston sulked for a few days. Curled up close to me, quiet. He told me that a classmate had said, “Have a nice life,” and in that moment, he realized that some people—some friendships—might be chapters closed. I held him and said, “Remember this feeling, son. It means love was here. You got the opportunity to love and be loved in return—and that is a feeling of safety I never want you to forget.”
When Langston was learning to walk, I held his hand so tightly I thought I’d never let it go. Every step felt like a leap; every stumble, a reminder of how fragile and brave this parenting thing really is. But now, here he is—confident, curious, ready to step into the world on his own terms. And for the first time, I really felt it: I ain’t got to worry about him.
That’s a gift.
This summer, he’ll be with family, soaking up stories and laughter, and building his own memories. But more than that, he’s reminding me that motherhood is about creating ease between the mother I had to be when he took his first steps—and the mother I have to be now as I let him spread his wings. It’s about holding on and letting go. It’s about trust.
It’s about watching him walk through that airport gate in his math-lined blazer and dinosaur backpack, knowing that every step he takes is built on the foundation of all the times I whispered, “You can do this,” even when I wasn’t sure myself.
So here’s to Langston—my oldest sunshine—taking flight in every way that matters. I’m so proud of you, son.
And to every mama who’s feeling that tug between the steps and the leaps: I see you. We’re growing too.
— Vic