Our Last New Driver

My youngest son got his driver's license. There are many stops along the highway of parenthood that clue you in that time marches forward, often at a pace that you are not comfortable with. The first day of kindergarten is one. When my eldest went I cried--he seemed so serious and grown up, yet not many months before he was still in diapers and not walking. When my youngest went to kindergarten I cried. It was the last time we would have a child at home full time. Our years of changing the aforementioned diapers were officially over. We were parenting children that others would now teach. It also makes me realize why middle children feel persistently left out--I had no emotional denouements associated with their kindergarten days--they just happened. Maybe that shelters you from a lot of emotional baggage, and maybe it creates it--or maybe we all feel a little bit put out by our birth order and there is no escape.

In any case, the route to being a driver was more complicated for my youngest son. The last child to be able to drive is probably always momentous--it gives everyone a little more freedom, and is therefore much anticipated (and perhaps more than a little feared--with good reason. We have only had to purchase one vehicle as a result of a teen-aged driving mishap, but one is enough. Parenting is not for wimps). But for Ethan it is more of an accomplishment than that. He had a brain tumor at age 5, and that leaves a mark on you. Everything is more complicated as a result, and driving is no exception. He approached driving as he approaches many tasks he has to face-with confidence, persistence and no sign of disappointment when it is harder than anticipated. He is remarkably patient with himself (not so with others, I might add). And he succeeded. So it is with great joy, a touch of trepidation, and a bit of sadness that I welcome him to the road as an independent driver.