Speak to Me Sunday: Lessons from a U-Haul Truck

As the parents of grown sons, our role has evolved over time.

Initially, we lead the way. Like a lighthouse on a rocky shore, we provided foundation, faith, and guidance. We illuminated the darkness so our sons could see possibilities and pathways, but they did so by following us, stepping in footsteps we left for them to follow.

Then came the day we gave each of our sons a flashlight and stepped back, allowing them to explore on their own. To venture out in baby steps. We no longer walked in front, but alongside them, still protective even as they explored further and further.

Baby steps turned into giant steps, and giant steps became leaps, and things began to shift just a little bit. So, we adjusted, parented a little differently, and readjusted when things shifted again.

And then a U-Haul truck changed everything.

Yes, I blame everything on a darn U-Haul truck, the one I followed yesterday all the way from our house to Timothy’s new apartment. The darn U-Haul truck filled with all of Timothy’s earthly possessions which used to fill our home. The darn U-Haul which left us empty closets and dust bunnies and dangling hangers.

As I followed the U-Haul truck, despite my maudlin, contemplative state of mind, I could still see and feel gratitude for this new era of parenthood which was, yes, sad to be sure, but also all kinds of wonderful. And we had been preparing for this day!

Last month, I watched as Joe, like he did with all our sons, give Timothy his personal papers which, up to that point, had been stored in our safe: his birth certificate, passport, insurance papers, prescriptions, tax documents. Joe explained everything and Timothy solemnly stored them in his own fire-proof safe (a graduation gift).

Last week, I made a “bachelor cookbook” filled with easy-to-prepare recipes and packed two bins filled with pantry items: olive oil, spices, an assortment of pasta, bags of rice, and various vinegars. I washed linens and towels and carefully folded everything. I made sure to include an ironing board and gave Timothy a refresher course entitled “How to Iron a Dress Shirt.”

All summer, we have been stockpiling apartment items: a new couch, framed posters, cleaning supplies, vacuum cleaner, full-size mattress, bed frame, and—most exciting of all for Timothy—a brand-new large-screen television.

So, we knew this day was coming. We did.

But still.

Still.

Later that night, after we returned to an empty home during a dark and ferocious thunderstorm, Joe and I felt the biggest shift of all because we are now manning the lighthouse alone. All our sons are grown and gone. They are forging pathways and exploring hidden lands and seeing and doing things we have never done. Now it is their turn to shine.

And now we watch, even as we try and adjust to this new stage of parenthood, one which has left us feeling a little adrift. Maybe even a little lost.

It is hard, scary, sad. Let me just say that.

But it is also beautiful, inspiring, exciting. I can say that, too.

A heart can hold many conflicting emotions.

It is as it should be, and I am grateful.

But I know that, no matter what, we will always be that lighthouse illuminated on the rocky shore welcoming them home, and maybe, like that U-Haul truck, they carry with them some of what we have given them through the years.

A Gelato Story

Once Upon a Time, a gelato order in Italy started a thing in our family.

Timothy was five years old and we were in a gelateria in Sorrento. Timothy looked at all the pretty flavors and pointed to the one he wanted: melone (cantaloupe).

Now, we ALL knew he was not going to like it. He did not even like cantaloupe, the fruit! We tried to tell him so. But he was adamant that he wanted melone.

With his first bite, we could tell that he did NOT, in fact, like it. But he pretended otherwise.

“I like it. Melone.” He said, as he bravely continued eating.

Ha! He may have been pretending otherwise, but we knew. And that phrase took off and became our family thing.

Today, when any one of us uses that phrase—I like it, melone—it means we DON’T like something, but we are pretending that we do.

It is also used as a point of reference for clarity, as in: Do you really like it, or do you like it as in I-like-it-melone?

Even our daughters-in-law are in on this.

During our family trip to Italy last month, at our first gelato order in Rome everyone said Timothy had to get melone. It was a tradition! You have to! We double dare you! So, being a good sport, he ordered melone and took a bite.

Here is what he said: “I like it. Melone.”

We all laughed.

But during the rest of our trip, Timothy always ordered limone e fragola (lemon and strawberry).

Now those flavors … he really, really likes.

Family Trip to Italy: Venice Days 10, 11 (Holy Water, Vivaldi, Titian, Mass at St. Mark's)

Days 10, 11: Venice (Holy Water, Vivaldi, Titian, Mass at St. Mark’s) (Sunday, May 24 and Monday May 25)

This morning, we met for breakfast in the lobby. This was our last day, and we did not have any specific plans other than to explore, do last minute shopping, have one more gelato, and pack. But … packing was for later. We had the entire day ahead, so off we went to explore.

We all decided to check out the famous Libreria Acqua Alta, a unique and whimsical bookstore where bathtubs and a full-sized gondola are used to store books in case of high tides. In the back of the store, water-damaged encyclopedias from the 2019 flood (where water levels reach more than six feet) were used to make a staircase which you can climb to get a view of the canal. Several stray cats live in the shop, wandering the stacks or napping on the piles of books. Because the shop is popular on social media, it was crowded but still fun to visit.

Once we exited the bookstore, we realized that there was a buzz in the air and on the water. Groups of people dressed in team shirts were walking around, and the Grand Canal and Venetian Lagoon were filled with boats. What was going on? Apparently, Vogalonga 2026 was happening that day! Vogalonga (translated long row/paddle) is a non-competitive rowing event across the Venetian Lagoon and Grand Canal. There were teams from everywhere, which added to the festive air.

We wandered and wandered. During our stroll we happened upon the church of San Giovanni in Bragora. This was where the Baroque Italian composer, Vivaldi (The Four Seasons), was baptized. Last fall, in Vienna, Austria, I saw the church where Mozart was baptized, so I am sensing a pattern here.

We had lunch together at a restaurant along the Grand Canal, eating seafood pasta and watching the festivities on the water. Then, we all split up to do various things. Timothy climbed the tower in Piazza San Marco and took some amazing photos, and the three of us visited the church of San Salvador where we saw the following: the relics of Saint Theodore (the original patron saint of Venice before Saint Mark became its patron in 829), two of Titian’s masterpieces (the Transfiguration above the main altar, and the Annunciation on a side chapel), and a special exhibit of Lourdes (with relics of two of the children displayed on the altar).

Part of the exhibit included a large tub with holy water from Lourdes, and I filled a vial for my parents. Later, when I handed the vial to my father, he asked: “Is this water from Lourdes, or the Grand Canal?”

Ha!

By late afternoon we returned to our hotel to shower and change for Mass. I love attending the 6:45 pm Mass at St. Mark’s Basilica as there is no entrance fee and the interior lights are on (something not done during the day). It was a beautiful way to end our trip because I was awash with gratitude.

Since we are on the subject of church, I have a confession: All during this trip I have mentioned all my Best Decisions, but I did have one really bad idea. After Mass, and since it was getting dark, I suggested we take a vaporetto ride along the Grand Canal. This is something I have done before, and it can be a really magical experience at sunset. BUT, remember the Vogalonga? All those tourists lingered after the race and the vaporetto was stupidly crowded. Nicholas and Lauren bailed after the second stop, and the rest of us did the same at the Rialto Bridge.

On the way back to St. Mark’s Square, Nicholas and Lauren decided to have dessert and an Aperol spritz in the Piazza, Jonathan and Caroline went to get an ice cream, Joe wanted a panino, and Timothy and I decided we absolutely needed one last pizza and one last Fanta. It was late, so the restaurant was fairly empty, but then Jonathan and Caroline walked by and joined us at our table. Seated nearby were four guys from—of all places!—Alaska, and on the way out I gave them our SEVEN unused vaporetto tickets.

As much as we hated to admit it, it was time for bed (and some last-minute packing).

The next morning reminded me of another reason I really loved our hotel and it involves a fun fact: there are two doors in the hotel lobby; walk out one, and you cross a bridge which leads you into Piazza San Marco; walk out the other door and—SPLASH!—you land in the canal. What this means, though, is that our hotel has its own private dock!

So, after breakfast, our water taxi picked us up right at the hotel lobby dock for the 40-minute boat ride to the airport. For the entire time, poor Caroline was eyeing her suitcase perched on top of the pile, worried that the choppy water would cause it to splash into the lagoon. No such thing occurred.

We unloaded our luggage at the airport dock, sailed through security (see what I did there?), had one last cappuccino and panino, boarded our flight, and arrived home with hearts full of gratitude for a wonderful family trip.

I am still re-living the memories.