The Change is just around the corner. I can see it in my mother’s eyes, as she watches me just a little longer than usual whenever I talk at the dinner table. I can taste it when my favorite home-cooked meals start to appear on my plate every evening. I can hear the subtle pleading in my father’s voice as he asks if I’d like to go with him to “Get a few little things” at the hardware store and “maybe stop for lunch afterward”. I can hear my little sister, laughing a bit harder at each of my jokes. I can feel my girl holding my hand just a little tighter as we walk slowly through State Fair. I can even see my dog sitting with her ears down and her tail between her legs, staring confusedly at the suitcases and Target brand cups and plates that now litter my bedroom.

It is not long until this summer, the best of my life so far, will be nothing more than a pleasant thought, filled with sun-drenched memories and new life experiences. It will not be long until I meet new people and make new friends. It will not be long until I sleep in a new bed, and get into a new routine. But for now I live in the present. I appreciate the company of my family, and of my girl. I walk aimlessly through my house, noticing things that I have never seen before. I study my reflection in a mirror that I had previously failed to see. Any facial hair yet? Nope, but I’m used to it. I look at the time on a clock that I did not know existed. These are things in my home that I take for granted every day. I scare myself with the strength of my emotions. It’s not like I’m never going to be here again… Right? I walk outside late at night. I stare across the large field that is our backyard. This is the yard that watched my father teach me how to throw a curveball. It is the yard that put grass stains onto my bare, bony knees whenever I was tackled in a pickup football game. It is the yard that disappeared each winter under a smooth, peaceful layer of snow that would survive only until the next morning, when it was torn up by the chaos of a young boy’s winter boots. This yard is now covered in mist, and the mist is illuminated by a stunning full moon. The yard that I played in for so many days of my youth is bidding me a beautiful farewell.

There is something about a home that cannot be replicated. Whether it’s a mansion in Beverly Hills or a shack in the middle of the woods, everyone has a place to call home, a place where they can feel safe. This is my home, my safe place. When I’m sad I can lie in my spot on the couch under a warm blanket. When I’m happy I can run around outside and throw a tennis ball to my dog. Heck, I can even sleep naked! This is home base, the place where my journeys begin and the place where they end.

Today is the day of the Change. I wake up early in the morning with squinty eyes and a messy hairdo. It was a rough night, saying goodbye to my girl and writing notes to each member of my family. I scramble to collect all of the things that I had forgotten to pack in the days leading up to today. I grab a poncho, a picture of my sister, a cowbell. A cowbell? Oh well, I’ll find a use for it. It is an emotional time for me. I see my family differently than I have ever seen them before. They have always been here for me, have been people I can fall back on when I screw up. They fix my problems, and they make me feel better.  But after today, I will not be able to run home whenever I’ve gotten in over my head. I will not have reminders to pack a snack on days of cross country meets, or to wear something warmer on a cold day.  I will not have a cold water bottle waiting in the fridge every morning before school, and my clothes will not appear neatly folded on my bedroom floor every other day. If I screw up now, it’s on me.

We get into the car and pull out of the driveway, our trailer packed full of Tupperware containers and cardboard boxes. My dog stands in the window next to the front door and becomes a small white blur in the distance. We occupy ourselves with small talk, things that don’t matter. The time is close for emotion, but not yet. Nobody wants to acknowledge what is going to happen in only a few hours. As a family we are all alike, and that is why we are so close. We all operate in the same way. We know without speaking that what is happening is bittersweet, and we don’t feel the need to say it. These are my people, the basis of my view of the world. I would not be me without them. My 16-year-old sister and I sing loudly the whole way there.

We pull into a rest stop about halfway through our three-hour journey, our favorite stop. We have been here many times before on our trips to northern Wisconsin. My parents reminisce about how little I was when we first started coming here. The memories become more distinct, and we smile as we recount “the good ol’ days”. The atmosphere begins to get thicker, and we look into each other’s eyes longer each time we speak. We sit in the parking lot, leaning against the overfilled trailer and eating sub sandwiches. The sun is shining brightly on us, and we are content. A monarch butterfly lands softly on the edge of the trailer, and we stare at it in silence. Its delicate wings are tattered from the many miles it has traveled over the green forests of Wisconsin. It will soon travel south, to the Oyamel fir trees of Mexico that it calls home, thousands of miles away. It may make it, or it may not. We think it will make it. We finish our sandwiches, and it flutters away. We are happy.

We arrive at my dorm and unpack my belongings. My roommate and I carry out the awkward greeting ritual. I decide that he probably won’t kill me in my sleep, so I’m content. My mother busies herself with re-folding all of my clothes, and my father, sweating profusely, carries all of the heaviest items into my room. It is hot and humid, far from comfortable. I unpack slowly, not sure of where I should put things.  I crack jokes half-heartedly. I pretend to be interested in what my roommate’s parents are saying. I pretend to be excited about all of the food I am unpacking.

This does not feel real. This day that I have forever known would come feels different than anything I imagined. I see my mother set a note on my desk, and I almost lose my composure. I am not an emotional person, but these people are my life. I will be leaving the people I have taken for granted for the last eighteen years. It is not until now, the moment I leave my family, that I know how much they mean to me. I know that these people are more important than anything else in my world.

It is time to say goodbye. My mother cries and my father’s eyes fill with tears of pride. My sister hugs me softly, and we both hesitate when letting go. I tell her not to wreck my van. I hold back my own emotion because that is my duty as an eighteen-year-old man. I pretend that I won’t be sad when they leave. I pretend that I know what I’m doing.

I watch our pickup truck pull slowly out of the parking lot. I stand on the lawn in front of my dorm with bare feet, and I blow kisses to the people I am so fond of. I wear

my biggest smile. I am excited, and I am scared. I am living a scene similar to the scene of thousands of other kids all over the nation at the exact same moment. Each kid calls a different place home, and each kid has a different family, but we all feel the most sincere brand of love for the people we’re saying goodbye to.

I watch our car disappear into the distance. I am alone now, many miles from my home. I remember the monarch butterfly. I will travel many miles, and my wings will become tattered, but in the end, I will always make it home.