When I pointed out that it was raining, Sammy laughed. He was headed to the library on his bike. Rain? Whatever. He needs more manga comics, and a little drizzle won’t hold him back.

It’s been that kind of summer –- my two boys, out on their own, riding around the neighborhood. Sammy is nearly 13, so he has crossed major thoroughfares on the way to his volunteer job at a preschool day camp, to drum lessons and the library. He’s already plowed through most of the manga in Huntington Woods; at this point he’s branching out to Royal Oak.

The first time Josh left for camp on his own, I jogged by the rec center to make sure his bike was at the rack. I mean, what if I didn’t find out till 4:00 that he hadn’t even made it? The next day, I didn’t check. He is 9, and he looks both ways at the big downhill intersection with the giant wall of shrubbery. I figure he’s as safe as a fourth grader in a safe neighborhood can be.

I feel free, maybe almost as free as they do. I am forever letting them go – one inch at a time, one block at a time, until they leave home for good.

Sammy will return with a sack full of books.  In a few days, he’ll go back out for more.  I’ll make dinner while he’s gone, and while we eat it, he can tell me about his day.