My son is about to get his driver's license. I'm already mourning the child he used to be.
- My son will be getting his driver's license soon.
- I thought I'd be scared. Instead, I'm mourning how fast he's growing up.
My son is days away from getting his driver's license, and I'm feeling something I never expected.
You'd think I'd be scared. But I'm not.
He's been practicing for this. He passed driver's education with top marks and logged more than 50 hours of practice driving. His driving instructors call him "a natural," even though I question whether such praise could make him overconfident. So far he's shown a lot of street smarts, and he's been pretty darn responsible.
What I'm feeling, strangely, is grief.
I'm already missing the time we spent together in the car
I'm not mourning that he'll have more independence. I was a free spirit at his age, too. He loves taking long bike rides out in the country by himself, just as I used to do. He's big on exploring and doing his own thing. Not a bone in his body is afraid of the big, wide world.
Plus, logistically, I'm sure it will be nice when I don't have to cart him to work or make the inconvenient high-school run twice a day. It's crazy to think I'll never need to pick up his friends or drive them home again. And having another driver to do errands sounds like a bonus in my book.
I'm prematurely mourning our precious behind-the-wheel conversations. Some days I hardly see him because of his work, school, and social schedule. Our car rides are our only chance to catch up — or to just listen to music, or point out bad drivers we spot, or comment on cheesy radio ads or unusual news stories we happen to hear. I'm really going to miss the mindless chatter about school, work, friends, acquaintances, teachers, all of it.
We've had some profound discussions, for sure. Plenty of arguments, you bet. But somehow I think those will endure.
It's the mundane stuff I worry might just up and disappear. The stuff that helps you understand the fabric of your children's everyday lives.
I like to ask my kids, "What was the excitement in [fill in the blank] grade today?" That's when I hear about the fight in the hallway or the green hot dogs in the cafeteria. They'll dish about the geometry sub who didn't look up from her phone, or the gym class where they got picked to be on an awesome or sometimes terrible team.
Knowing that those conversations will have to wait until 9 p.m. makes me wonder if they'll even exist anymore as his independence grows.
I think I already know the answer to that. And it makes me sad. It's another chapter, a part of growing up.
This chapter of his life is harder to close
But closing this chapter feels especially hard because I can see there aren't many left before he's all grown up, and I'm not ready for that. In less than two years he'll be a legal adult. And soon after, I can picture him living on his own, doing his own thing out in the real world, leaving me in his shadow.
For now, at least, I have the luxury of knowing he's a good driver. I've seen him wait for a reckless car that flew through a red light, and he's even had close encounters with deer already. He's done great, and I'm so proud.
But I'm not looking forward to the first time he pulls out of the driveway without a trusted adult buckled beside him. I'm thoroughly dreading it. Just not for the reasons I expected.