I squeezed my eyes shut, gripping the car door handle with all my strength. I was uncertain about the outcome of the moment, but deep down, I knew it wouldn’t end well. In those agonizing three seconds, my entire life flashed before me, and I pondered how my family would react to the news of a crash.
Time stretched on, and I didn’t hear or feel anything as metal collided with metal. Oddly, I noticed the absence of any shards of glass that should have surrounded me. My ears strained, but all I could hear was my own frantic breathing. I concluded that the accident must have been so catastrophic that everyone else was unconscious. Clearly, I was in shock, having already blocked out the moment of impact.
Feeling movement to my left, I realized it was time to open my eyes and assess the situation. “Those first responders sure arrived quickly,” I thought. Or perhaps I had just lost consciousness for a while.
Summoning every ounce of courage, I slowly opened one eye and then the other, struggling to understand what I was witnessing. There were no injuries, no crumpled metal, no broken glass. Instead, I found myself in the passenger seat of my car, with my young son at the wheel—the same boy I had taught to ride a bike just last week. He was confidently steering with his hands at 10 and 2, and as he glanced over at me, he sheepishly said, “Sorry, I took that turn a little too fast, Mom. That was a close one.” He flashed a mischievous smile and smoothly turned the car into our driveway.
My little man, now a teenager, had turned off the ignition. We sat in comfortable silence, the ticking of the cooling engine blending with the distant hum of a neighbor’s lawnmower on one of summer’s final days.
Driving legally is now a part of my son’s life, and while it’s a rite of passage, it’s also terrifying. It symbolizes a loss of control as I watch him grow up, and it serves as a stark reminder that I, too, am aging.
Gone are the days of singing the alphabet song and watching endless episodes of toddler shows. Long past are the times when I had to convince him that a short rest didn’t mean a nap. Most of the time, I embrace this change.
Having a teenager brings its own rewards. For instance, I now wake him up on weekends instead of the other way around. Traveling with a teen is far easier and often more enjoyable than managing a small child. Plus, there’s something special about having genuine conversations with your child, realizing he knows things I never learned.
In suburban life, a driver’s license is essential and signifies a teen’s growing independence. Yet, it makes this 41-year-old mom feel quite old. I would be lying if I said I didn’t miss the days when my little boy rode around in his toy truck, but I also want him to savor this new milestone.
I know there will be many more nerve-wracking moments in the future. It’s challenging to relinquish the control I’ve had over his life for the past 15 and a half years, only to find him literally in the driver’s seat. It’s unsettling.
Tentatively, I stepped out of the car and caught a glimpse of myself in the side mirror. Had my hair always had this many gray strands? No, it definitely looked like more than half an hour ago.
So concluded another mother-son driving lesson. The next time he asks to practice driving, perhaps he can take me to the salon to cover up this latest sign of time passing. Or maybe I’ll just focus on keeping calm and steady as he navigates the turns.