I have a cousin who (as family legend goes) had the opportunity to play baseball at Oklahoma State. These days, the Cowboys aren't in the same league as Texas, Miami or Florida State, but at the time (almost 20 years ago), O-State fielded one of the best baseball programs in the country. I don't think a scholarship was in the offing (collegiate teams are allowed something like 13 scholarships, and most of those are split among many different players), but that wasn't a big issue. Out-of-state tuition at O-State wouldn't have broken the bank. But my cousin stayed home and went to Eastern New Mexico instead. The scuttlebutt was that his mom couldn't bear to let him go "all the way" to Stillwater--which, by coincidence, is where his (and my) grandfather was raised.

I thought this was a great injustice. How could a mother hold back her son like that? Of course, I was preparing to head off to Columbia, Mo., which lay a few hundred miles on down the pike from Stillwater. I really don't know how my parents felt about me going so far away, though as I was an oldest child and my cousin was "the baby" of his family, the situations weren't exactly comparable. Still. I'd have gone postal if my mom had tried to keep me from playing baseball for a top school. When I was a little kid, all I wanted to do was play for the Kansas City Royals. Unfortunately, reality intervened. I got exactly one hit in two years of Little League play, and I never did figure out how to judge a fly ball when playing outfield. So if I'd had the talent to play baseball at a top college team, I would have grabbed it in a second. My general attitude toward anyone standing in my way would have been "See ya!" Even today, I think that's reasonable. But my cousin went his way, and that's cool, too.

Last week, my son Max began attending a parent's morning out program, where he hangs out one morning a week with six or seven other kids his age. Last fall we put Max in the "babies room," but we quit after a month. He was dreadfully unhappy, not from separation anxiety but simply bored. And that made him mad. As any parent knows, a 20-month-old has the will and staying power to keep up an angry, wailing front for hours at a time.

The week before Max's first full morning at PMO, he and I visited for about an hour. Max remembered his bad experience from last fall, and he threw a bona-fide tantrum as soon as we got to the church which hosts the program. Then the snacks came out. Max always favors food over petty anger, so he calmed right down. He ate a bit, excused himself from the table and "parked" all the toy shopping carts and baby doll strollers in a neat row. After having secured his environment, Max proceeded to have a grand time. He complained loudly when we left.

So I had some hope that he'd get through his first week without too much trouble. Still, I steeled myself for him wailing uncontrollably as I dropped him off. I know from experience that he almost always calms down as soon as I leave, but even recently he'd howled when being left with friends--friends he knows and likes.

Instead, he went right over to one of the caregivers and asked her--by name--where "Miss Robin" was. This astonished me. I'd told him that he'd be at "playtime" without me, but I hadn't reminded him of "Miss Karen" and "Miss Robin." He'd remembered their names from the previous week.

After ascertaining that everyone important was present, he loped over to a fire truck and began playing. I made a move to walk over and say goodbye. "Miss Karen" asked me if I thought that was a good idea--some kids do better when their parents simply melt away. But I know Max, and he likes to say goodbye before I leave. I told him I was going home, and he stood up, gave me a hug and pushed me away.

"Bye bye," he said. When I didn't move immediately, he repeated his command. "Bye bye." And he watched me sternly until I backed away and left.

Max had a good morning and wasn't particularly interested in seeing me when I arrived three hours later to pick him up. We went home and he took a nap. Almost immediately after waking up, he went over to our neighbor's house (their son and Max are almost inseparable), as he always does on that day. And when I went to get him, he didn't want to leave. As usual.

Max spent almost an entire day away from me and my wife, Barbara--or any family member, period. He'd survived--even thrived--without us. I know, millions of parents everywhere do this every day, and with children much younger as well. But this was a first for Max, and he was happy as could be.

I suppose I could have felt morose or concerned or whatever it is that drives the empty nest syndrome. But to be honest, I was thrilled. Max should have a life separate from me, and it's about time he got started on that. I'm happy that he's happy, and I'm also happy that he's become much more willing to explore and enjoy new experiences. It's my job as a parent to make him secure with himself, and it's his job to live his life. So far, that seems to be working out alright.

With a couple of brief exceptions, Jon Worley hasn't lived within 500 miles of his parents since high school.