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Those of us who went to middle school duringthe 40s in China will all remember studying the essay 朱自清in ourChinese literature class. In that famous essay the author wrote about thememory of his father entitled   背影.

My wife wrote a very poignant piece of seeing her first born leaving home andgoing off the college some 30+ years ago. It was published in local Chineseassociation newsletter at the time. I carefully saved a copy. But alas afterall this time I can no longer find it. But my eldest daughter recently alsopublished an essay about feelings of finality triggered when parent cut theapron strings to a child. I thought it represents a counterpoint of the essayby 朱自清. Ireproduced the essay (with permission) here to share with science net readers

What I learned

by Christine Ho Kim

My son asked me to cut hishair the other day.  He’s going on 16,past the age when most kids have their parents cut their hair, but he likes aplain old buzz cut and I can do that with the clippers. When he was younger hisfather would cut his hair or sometimes we’d bring him to the barber, but forthe past several years I’ve done the job. For a long time I didn’t like doingit: I was bad at haircutting (he would always end up looking like he hadmange), and I hated vacuuming up the hair from the floor afterwards. What withrunning a household and raising four kids, well, cutting his hair was justanother chore.

After several years I’vebecome more skilled at using the clippers: the uneven patches from earlyhaircuts are gone, and I’ve gotten the process down to 17 minutes flatincluding cleanup. And with two kids off in college, I’m not as busy as before.But the main reason I don’t mind cutting his hair anymore is that I realize thatone of these times will be the last time I give him a haircut. That soundsgrave, and I don’t mean it to. Because the final haircut I ever give him? -- Iwon’t know it when it happens. Although it’s possible that the reason for thefinal time I give him a haircut will be catastrophic – death, disaster, hewants to grow dreadlocks -- the real reason will probably be mundane. Mostlikely he will grow up, move out, and find a barber or a friend to give himhaircuts. Maybe when he goes to college he’ll rarely ask me for haircutsanymore, and maybe one summer he’ll ask me to do it because he doesn’t feellike driving to the barber. I’ll pull out the clippers and be blithely unawarethat this is the final time.

And that’s okay. I’m notgoing to adopt a solemn, ponderous attitude toward everything I do just becauseit might be the last time I’m doing it. Even if I knew in advance thatsomething was happening for the last time, it would be time-consuming andself-absorbed to mark every ending with emotional fanfare. Instead, I’ll simplytry to be aware that there is always the potential that anytime I do something,it might be the final time. I’m not preaching that I should cherish everything“because one day it’ll be gone”, although that’s true. Greater appreciation oflife’s incidents would be a wonderful side benefit, but that’s not my point.I’d like to think deeper, to the understanding that everything will be gone oneday, and that I’ll be profoundly sad, and that both the going-away and thesadness are okay. What I’ve learned is that life is full of beginnings andendings and that for it to be otherwise would be unnatural. It’s crazy to thinkthat I am owed permanence of the good things in my life. It’s not that I’m notsad about losses; I’m plenty sad about those. It is that although I havehappiness in my life and can’t help wanting more, I expect both losses andsadness. When those come, I try to welcome them as meaningful life experiences,as equally worthy as happy times.

I think about “last times”more than I might otherwise because my husband died relatively young, when hewas 42. That was six years ago, and our kids were between 9 and 16 at the time.I have occasionally thought about his “last times”: the last time he was in ourhouse, the last time we kissed, the last words I said to him. (“See youtomorrow.”) At the moment they were happening, I didn’t know that these werethe final times they would happen. Which, as I said, is okay. There werecountless other kisses and conversations and I’m not sure what the knowledgethat this was the final kiss/hug/goodbye would have added to our lives. Itprobably just would have put pressure on me to make things “perfect”.

But back to my son and thehaircuts. These periodic 17 minutes of private, quiet time I have with thisteenager who towers over me will be over one day. Heck, maybe the buzzcut Ijust gave him was the last one. I’ve learned that I can live with this. Notjust because I want my son to grow up and move out, and not just because it’stedious to vacuum hair off the floor.  Itis because I have learned to embrace – imperfectly, for sure -- thetransitions, the comings and goings, of both the happy and sad in my life.