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Hello, goodbye.

Those of you who remember my touchy-feely essay about dropping my older kid off for his freshman year at college might be interested to know that I did the drop-off again yesterday … and it went so smoothly I didn’t even go up to the kid’s room.

We pulled over curbside for the two-minute drill, and by some miracle, all the crap in the car fit into the rolling hamper. I didn’t need to go park in the garage and bring up anything else.

So I left him to his own devices to wheel his grossly overloaded hamper (a bin laden, you could call it) up to his room. I didn’t have to be there for any further steps in the process, and I wasn’t; he can put his own gear on his own closet shelf.

I dunno. Sentiment aside, maybe I should have parked and gone up just to case out the place, in an I’m-paying-room-and-board, what-am-I-getting sort of mindset. But I didn’t.

The lad (you’ll know him by his hair) waves a quick goodbye as he gets rolling. You’ll also note that he’s wearing his winter coat.

Meanwhile, there will be a cross-country trip for a college visit with the younger son in a month or so. There’s a chance that his eventual college dropoff will have a long plane ride in front of it. Sure, why not. He has never been the sort to choose the convenient or easy option, anyway.

I have two American Top 40 countdowns open right now and can’t make myself listen to, or write about, either of ’em. Maybe some other time.

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