Our family experienced a milestone this week when our youngest
got her much awaited driver’s license. It’s a scene that is played out and
celebrated all over America. Proud new drivers grasping their little temporary
licenses so tightly, the ink may wear off, posing for a picture to post on
social media announcing to the world that they have been given this much
coveted freedom. Our daughter was no different. Smiling broadly, with a look of
sheer gratification on her face, she let her dad take the picture knowing that
life had now changed for the better and she had the little piece of paper to
prove it. What the camera didn’t capture was me, quickly and as inconspicuously
as possible, wiping away the tears that spilled out of my eyes. I’m grateful
for that and not because I have yet to learn to buy waterproof mascara.
I’m glad that Amelia only saw happiness, because one day,
when she is a mom, she will know what I mean when I say I’m now suffering from
empty passenger seat syndrome. It’s a
selfish malady, I know. I really am thrilled that she is growing up and
becoming more independent. Really… although I might need some gentle reminding
every now and then. I pray that she will have the great conversations with her
child that we could only seem to have in the car. For it was through those car
talks that I discovered my daughter’s tender heart for those without a home,
her penchant for 80’s music, and her love for VW Beetles. (Robins egg blue,
just in case you wondered.) There were numerous other conversations that took
place with me ensconced behind the wheel and her safely buckled in beside me.
There were mornings where I was the only one doing the talking, because my
passenger was a bleary eyed young teen who didn’t always embrace the excitement
of a brand new day. There were afternoons when the car just seemed to
automatically know the way to the local coffee house. There were many days that
the car became a karaoke spot on four wheels. It didn’t matter. The car was our
space. We laughed, shared a few secrets, and debated everything from politicians’
choices in pets to music that should be played at goldfish funerals. And when
Andy got sick, it became our place to talk and ask questions without any
intrusion from the outside world. I’m going to miss our travel time in the car.
But, more than that, I’m going to miss the person who sat beside me for the
longest time, making observations and keeping me entertained with stories of
her day and of her dreams as we waited for the impossibly long light to change
at the major intersection near our house. I wish that light could have stayed
red just a little longer. But it didn’t. So, off we go, onto the next stage and
milestone in life, all the while hoping that one day soon, she will call
shotgun, if only for a brief errand. And when that day comes, I hope we catch
every single red light.
