When Falls the Coliseum

Empty nest

Posted on October 10th, 2022 by Scott Warnock

It was exactly like they said it would be. We had three kids and it was this runaway train for years and then all of a sudden on September 9th youngest kid moves out and you look around and the house is empty. Just like that.

In a cosmic joke, I vowed when I was young to never have kids, but I’ve loved being a dad. Make no mistake, though, I lived through those 20+ years. Some of it was grinding–let no one tell you differently: Eight years of sleepless nights changes a person (and that person’s hair color). But when I look back, I mainly remember the good things. That’s a little ego integrity life reward: You hold on to the good things.

Now I’m 54 and everyone has moved on.

I was dragging the trash can out on Sunday night, a task that was the responsibility of others although I sometimes got stuck doing it. When I did, though, I could accompany my labor with a nasty text about why dad was doing someone else’s job: Hell to pay!

As I rattled the big green can through the dark that night, though, I realized I can’t “subcontract” this chore out now. And a thought hit me as I performed this most quotidian of jobs:

That’s the end of that.

For years, I’ve been arranging activities, clipping articles, logging movies and books geared around this home full of little people who grew big fast. Almost all parents start with a baby in a crib and a list of What are we gonna do next?

You’ll probably never get to it all. The homemade doll house. The tree fort. Getting that pool installed (which we may still do to spite them or lure them back home–you choose).

I don’t want this to seem all melancholy or sulky. My youngest was on three vacations without us this summer and all of them have been busy for years, so our house, once a perpetual hub of activity, gradually grew accustomed to quiet.

But the thought hits me everywhere.

We went over to watch some Palmyra high school soccer, and for the first time since 2013, there was no Warnock out there.

That’s the end of that.

I was on the phone wandering the house, and I went into Zachary’s room. He had cleared out most of his stuff, and I was jolted by the echo; it was as if I was in a room in a new house. I hustled out as if I were in danger of being bespelled.

[Screeching tires indicating an abrupt halt]

Then, while writing this as a way of doing a little empty nest processing, I got (finally, after 2.5 years) COVID. I was flattened for a week. Forget the nest, my brain felt empty; I was as sick as I’ve been in 20 years.

I’m slowly getting back my energy, and I’m among the living. People have asked me what it’s like “to be an empty nester,” and I say that the COVID thing broke my stride of experiencing what it was really like.

But I do look at the agenda of what’s before us.

I get up on weekends, and the house is calm. I want to ask whoever is home what their previous evening was like, but there’s no one to ask.

That’s the end of that.

I had vowed not to be the father of Harry Chapin or Everclear ballads, and I feel a sense of triumph that I overcame and wasn’t that. We didn’t build the tree house, my kids and me, but we did plenty. I was there the whole time. No regrets.

But daily, as Zachary thrives during his first year at school, something happens that reminds me:

That is the end of that.

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Scott Warnock

Scott Warnock is a writer and teacher who lives in South Jersey. He is a professor of English at Drexel University, where he is also the Associate Dean of Undergraduate Education in the College of Arts and Sciences. Father of three and husband of one, Scott is president of a local high school education foundation and spent many years coaching youth sports.