Younger Son turned eighteen last week. This is both a relief and scary. It is a relief because, in the eyes of Florida law, he is now legally responsible for any boneheaded thing he does. It’s all on him. Not that Hubby and I won’t still be judged as parents, but we are used to that. But our two sons are adopted, so I blame everything on genetics. Also, if the mood strikes, we can legally kick Younger Son out of the house. (I think. Maybe I should consult my lawyer before I start packing his bags.)

With his adultness, Younger Son now suddenly has “rights.” In his mind, that includes the right to bring M-rated games into the house to play on his X-box. In our minds, this is still a G-rated house, and any M-rated games found in our home will be confiscated. If he is using our electricity, we have the right to say what that electricity is used for, and M-rated games are not on the approved list. Our house, our rules, despite his “rights.” If he doesn’t like it, he has the “right” to move out. He also feels he has the “right” to go wherever he wants, whenever he wants. That’s okay, as Hubby has tracking on Younger Son’s cellphone. If Younger Son doesn’t like it, he has the “right” to emancipate himself from our cellphone plan.

His new adulthood is scary because now he has the right to serve his country and vote. In fact, he has already joined the Army and leaves for basic training after graduation. I have mixed feelings about his enlisting. On one hand, Uncle Sam will soon be responsible for his care and feeding, and our grocery bill will decrease by at least one-half. On the other hand, we are putting the defense of our great nation in the hands of a young man who spends all his spare time on TikTok, believes everything he sees on social media, texts us from the other room to communicate, and worries more about his hair than any girl I’ve ever known. Of course, Uncle Sam will also soon be assuming responsibility for Younger Son’s hair, which won’t involve expensive appointments with haircare specialists in order to give him the hairdo fashion of the latest celebrity.

But Uncle Sam will be issuing him a gun. Do we really want a loaded weapon in the hands of a kid who still has to be told to brush his teeth and change his underwear? I sincerely doubt his drill sergeant will be as meticulous at reminding Younger Son of his personal hygiene as his parents. Come to think of it, however, Uncle Sam will also be responsible for his dental care, so who knows? Personally, I don’t believe Younger Son needs a weapon. His body odor, alone, constitutes chemical warfare, probably violating conditions of humane treatment of enemies. Besides, he will probably go off to war, forgetting his weapon in the barracks. But that’s okay, as long as he has his hair pick with him.

I’m still waiting for his brain fairy to come. For that matter, I’m still waiting for Older Son’s brain fairy to come, but that’s a whole ‘nother issue. Younger Son’s voting registration card came in the mail the other day. Of course, we had to point it out to him as he has no concept of this idea of mail that arrives at the house in actual envelopes. He asked us who he should vote for. Although we thought this subject might be covered in a high school civics class, we are obviously due for a short course on how the election system works. But I’m afraid if his favorite Rapper isn’t on the ballot, despite our best advice, he will be clueless. SIGH.