I squeezed my eyes shut and gripped the car door handle tightly. I had no clue how this was going to unfold, but I was certain it wouldn’t be pleasant. In those seemingly endless three seconds, my life flashed before me, and I found myself pondering how my family would react to the news of a crash.
Time dragged on, and I was acutely aware that I neither felt nor heard the crash I expected. Strangely, I didn’t even feel the inevitable shards of glass that had to be surrounding me. My ears strained, but all I could hear was my own rapid breathing, not a single cry of distress from anyone else. The only conclusion I could draw was that the impact must have been so catastrophic that everyone else was out cold. Clearly, I was in shock, already blocking out the memory of the collision.
Noticing a shift to my left, I realized I had to open my eyes and lift my head to assess the situation and help with my own rescue. “Wow, those first responders are fast,” I thought. Or perhaps I had been unconscious for longer than I realized.
With every ounce of bravery I could muster, I cautiously opened one eyelid, then the other. My brain struggled to make sense of the scene before me. No blood, no broken bones, no crumpled metal, and no shattered glass. I was in the car with my young son, just as I had been countless times over the past 15 years. But this time? Something felt fundamentally different.
My little boy, the same one I had taught to ride a bike without training wheels just last week, was now behind the wheel of my car. His hands rested confidently at 10 and 2, his feet comfortably pressing the gas and brake pedals. He glanced over at me, the stunned passenger, and said, “Sorry, Mom, I took that turn a bit too quickly. That was close!” He grinned as he pulled into our driveway.
This boy, now a young man, switched off the ignition and we sat together in a moment of quiet, the ticking of the cooling engine mingling with the sound of a neighbor’s lawnmower on one of the last days of summer.
Driving is now legal and socially acceptable for him, but it terrifies me. Much of my fear stems from relinquishing control in more ways than one. More troubling, however, is the unavoidable reminder that he’s growing up, and so am I.
The days of singing the alphabet song and watching endless Sesame Street specials are long gone; I no longer have to persuade him that closing his eyes for five minutes is as good as napping. The days of diapers and sleepless nights are a distant memory. Most of the time, I embrace these changes.
There are indeed many great aspects of having a teenager. For one, I’m the one waking him up on weekends now, not the other way around. Traveling with a teen is significantly easier (and often more enjoyable) than managing a toddler. Plus, having real conversations with my son and discovering that he knows things I never learned is an incredible experience.
Obtaining a driver’s license is not only essential in our suburban life but also signifies his transition into adulthood. It represents independence, and it makes this 41-year-old mom feel quite ancient.
I would be dishonest if I said I didn’t miss the days when he used to cruise around the driveway in his toddler “truck,” Flintstones-style. Yet, I find myself torn, wanting him to savor this new milestone and everything it entails.
I recognize that many more nerve-wracking moments are ahead as he continues to grow. It’s daunting to have been in control of my child’s life for 15½ years and suddenly find him literally in the driver’s seat. The disquiet is palpable.
With trembling legs, I eventually managed to step out of the car and caught a glimpse of myself in the side mirror. Was it my imagination, or were there now more gray hairs than just thirty minutes before? No, definitely more.
So ended another mother-son driving lesson. The next time he asks to practice, perhaps he can take me to the salon to cover these fresh signs of aging. Or maybe, I’ll simply concentrate on keeping my eyes open and my breathing steady as he navigates those turns.
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Summary:
This heartfelt piece captures a mother’s mixed emotions as her son begins to drive, symbolizing the bittersweet nature of growing up. It reflects on the memories of early childhood while grappling with the realities of adolescence. The author embraces the challenges of relinquishing control while highlighting the joys of parenting a teenager, all while recognizing the passage of time.
Keyphrase: Parenting and Growing Up
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