With my eyes tightly shut, I grasped the car door handle as if it were a lifeline. I couldn’t predict how this situation would unfold, but I instinctively knew it would not end well. In those agonizing three seconds, my life, spanning over 40 years, flickered before me, and I pondered how my family would react to the inevitable news of an accident.
Time seemed to stretch as I sat in silence, neither hearing nor feeling the anticipated crash of metal against metal. It struck me as peculiar that I felt no shards of glass surrounding me. My ears strained, but all I could hear was my own panicked breathing. I interpreted this eerie stillness as a sign of shock; perhaps the impact had been so devastating that I was the only one left conscious.
Suddenly aware of movement to my left, I knew I had to open my eyes and assess the situation. “The emergency responders are remarkably quick,” I thought, or maybe I had lost consciousness for a moment.
Summoning every ounce of courage, I cautiously opened one eye, then the other. My mind struggled to process what lay before me. Instead of chaos, there was calm. No blood, no shattered bones, no crumpled vehicle—just me and my young son, the same child I had taught to ride a bike just recently. But this time felt drastically different.
My son, now seated in the driver’s seat with his hands positioned at ten and two, looked over at me with a sheepish grin. “Sorry, I took that turn a little quickly, Mom. That was a close one,” he said, steering the car into our driveway.
As he switched off the ignition, we sat in a comfortable silence, the ticking of the cooling engine harmonizing with the distant sounds of a neighbor’s lawnmower on one of summer’s final days.
While it is perfectly legal and socially acceptable for him to drive now, it leaves me feeling unsettled. My apprehension stems from relinquishing control, but more significantly, it serves as a stark reminder of his growth—and my own aging.
The days of singing the alphabet song and watching endless Sesame Street episodes are long gone. I often find myself reminiscing about the times I had to convince him that closing his eyes for just five minutes would suffice instead of a nap. Yet, most days, I embrace the changes.
There are undeniable perks to having a teenager. I now wake him up on weekends rather than the other way around. Traveling with a teen is far less complicated—and often more enjoyable—than managing a small child. Engaging in thoughtful conversations with him has become a delightful experience, revealing knowledge he possesses that I never learned.
Obtaining a driver’s license is both a necessity in our suburban life and a significant milestone for any teenager. For me, it symbolizes his transition into adulthood and a newfound independence, which simultaneously makes me feel much older.
While I sometimes long for the days when he played in the driveway with his toddler truck, I am equally excited for him to embrace this new chapter of his life. I understand that there will be many more nerve-wracking moments as he continues to grow and take on responsibilities.
With shaky legs, I eventually exited the car, catching a glimpse of myself in the side mirror. Was it my imagination, or were there more gray hairs than there had been just moments before? No, I was certain—there were definitely more.
Thus, yet another driving lesson with my son came to a close. The next time he asks to practice driving, perhaps I should have him take me to the salon to address this latest reminder of the passage of time. Or maybe I’ll just focus on keeping my eyes open and my breathing steady as he navigates those corners.