I guess he’s not a toddler any more. But he got his driver’s license today, and although he did not like the chauffeur cap we got him for the occasion, I suspect he will wear it sometime. But probably not on nights when my beautiful wife and I ask him to ferry us to dinner and back. Or, as his brother would prefer, when he drives them to school on Monday.
Ach, it worked for a while; we had our children a little later, in our 30s. It was common in our cohort in the IT industry, where people established careers first, and then children later (or not at all). But we moved to Springfield when the boys were young, which meant returning to my wife’s church milieu, where couples have their children in their early 20s. So for a decade, I’ve been able to tell myself I was as young as they. But time rolls on, much like my oldest now, who has run two errands on his own in the car already.
And, of course, it doesn’t help an anxious man that all the rural newspapers are full of reports of teens dying in auto accidents.
Although this report does not indicate a teen (Crash kills 1 near Republic, Mo. Friday), it doesn’t help that I know where that is: It’s on the way to church summer camp, a road I traveled with each of my sons in turn earlier this year (the oldest a day earlier as he was a counselor, and the youngest on his last trip as a camper the next day).
Ay, mi.
