Friday morning I put my son on a plane and sent him to California to play in a lacrosse tournament. There wasn’t much drama at the airport, though I was grateful that he allowed me to give him a hug now that he’s a frequent flier an all. At twelve.

Which begs the question: what kind of parent lets his tween fly off thousands of miles solo? At least that’s how my wife phrased it.  A quick poll of the office (all said they would not allow it) indicated that my spouse’s concerns were not out of the mainstream.

My response:  As of this morning, he’s officially taller than his mother, so who are we to tell him what to do anyway?

Kidding.  His enormity has almost nothing to do with my instinct to let him go.  At his age, adventure is a magical thing. I remember my similar adventures fondly, despite the fact that I had to take a train to Norman for that wrestling camp and could only convince a 155-pounder to stop harassing Kurt Voelker by putting him in a “guillotine.”  But that may undermine my point.

More germane: He is traveling with a group of boys that he knows well. They are chaperoned by a large squad of coaches experienced in just this kind of maneuver. They will be followed by a cloud of parents (including a couple that have been deputized to keep an eye on Bubba).

Here’s the real thing. At the risk of sounding like a proud poppa, this kid is sturdy, centered, confident, outgoing, a bit of an unmade bed perhaps, but overall a young guy more than capable of rising to the occasion. He was nervous and a bit snuggly on the ride to the airport, which are good feelings all around for him to be reminded of.  Is it clear yet that I couldn’t be more proud of the kid?

His biggest challenge: keeping track of the wallet, cell phone, backpack and gear duffle.

His incentive (and my main travel tip): Instead of cash, I gave him a cash card charged with more than enough dough for his weekend.  If he comes home with all the above items, he can have the balance on the card to spend as he wishes.

Other info I picked up making arrangements (I won the argument with my wife, and therefore full responsibility for this whole trip):

According Southwest Airlines, a twelve-year-old traveling alone is not an unaccompanied minor, and therefore warrants no special attention. But a lacrosse stick is a dangerous weapon and must be checked (I tend to agree).

According to the nice lady that answered the phone at Austin Bergstrom Airport, anyone under 18 requires no ID at all. (I emailed the TSA, but they told be it would be 10 days before they could answer my question — there was nothing on this subject on their website — guess they’re too busy waving underage terrorists through the checkpoint with no ID.)
Although he has a checkered history with phones, I probably would have had many more qualms about sending him, if we didn’t live in the age of communication.  Sure enough, as soon as the plane touched down, these SMS gems began arriving fast and furious.

[sic, the whole thing]

“Yay, Lax in Cali!”

“Driving to old town to get lunch. Cali is sweet. It is lax bro central. So much fun”

“We should take a family trip out here. It is sweet.”

“I just had these crazy tortillas that were cinnamon and strawberry flavor.”

“Just finished practice. Chillin with some gatorade and my roomie.”

“Good night, Daddy. I love you.”

After a long pause, the following afternoon…

“Went 0-3 today. Hopefully we do better tomorrow. Some huge teams.  It was rough.”

Then the following day…

“We won! Going to the airport now.”

“Ms G said she is happy to take me home if u don’t want to leave the house at 10:30pm she is willing.”

I do a little dance and remind myself to send Ms. G flowers.

Then…

“Delayed 55 mins.”

“It’s actually kinda fun.  Tell mom not to worry.”

“Now delayed to 6:30.”

“The airline says they will hold the connecting flight.”

That last one came in at 8:48PM.

About four hours later, just after 1AM, I met the fantastic Ms. G, and my road-weary boy hauled his gear into the back of our van.  He hugged me, wept and confessed.  Somehow, in the intervening hours since his last text, he had lost his phone.

I tucked that tired boy in.  It will all have to be dealt with.  Later.