Early this morning I walked my son into the Delta Terminal so he could board the first of two flights today; first stop Newark International Airport, ultimate destination, Ben Gurion, Tel Aviv, Israel.

This young man, this last and youngest child of mine, has come so far. In a quarter of a century, he has traveled through this journey called life with more courage, tenacity, conviction, and insight than anyone I know. 

It was just yesterday that I roamed the halls of the elementary school daily looking for the misplaced backpack, the lost jacket, the unseen lunchbox. It was just yesterday that I took him for his first job interview and stood by while the owner asked the obligatory questions, offered an application, and then the job, all within a span of 15 minutes. It was just yesterday when we toured college campuses, when we moved him into the dorm, when we attended graduation, and when he moved out, no longer a student, but a young adult ready to tackle the world.

As coined by Gretchen Rubin, “the days are long, but the years are short.” And boy are they.

A few short years ago, my barely “out” transgender eighth grader left the safety of our nest to travel to Israel for the first time. There were packing lists provided by the school that included certain required clothing items for the boys and for the girls. The school did not know that my son was trans which resulted in a few hard conversations about what he would need to pack and ultimately wear in certain areas of the country. He did not want to wear any skirts or dresses, let alone long, at or below the knee garb when praying at the Western Wall (the Kotel). 

At one point on the trip we did get a call. Feeling safe, our son told one of his classmates that he was transgender and the chain of events that ensued, while painful, unexpected, and full of anxiety, demonstrated a level of caring and kindness that I wasn’t prepared for.

The student called home; the parent called the school; the school called the chaperones; the chaperones called us. The tears flowed. I was not prepared to have this conversation with anyone, least of all one of our son’s teachers. However, the conversation was incredibly respectful and full of empathy. In fact, I couldn’t have scripted it better. In the end, the teacher assured us that they were supportive and wanted to be a support system when needed. They understood the nuances of the situation and only wanted our child to be safe and to enjoy the trip, one that the entire class had been learning about and preparing for throughout the school year.

Fast forward eleven years (almost to the day) and he’s off again to the land of milk and honey. This time, he is a man traveling without a mask. He can move through the country as an adult male without worry about his clothing selections. He can be his authentic self with a group of young adults as eager as he is to explore, experience, and engage with the land, the culture, and the people he loves so very much.

Yes. The days are long. While he’s arrived at the first destination, we now wait for news later this afternoon that he’s boarding the flight to Israel and then we’ll hold our collective breaths until the plane touches down in the holy land.

In a blink he’s gone from the forgetful, impulsive, messy child to a proud, confident, motivated adult. The years are short, for sure.