Patrick got his driver's license today. Not two minutes ago he just drove off with my car on his first solo trip. He is going to school. He should be back by dinner time. I should be off my knees well before then, praying that he makes it there and back.
OK. So I don't go down on my knees, but I do pray, and I do worry. And children do grow up and drive off. He laughed when I did my standard "Oh, my baby," act, to show that he was growing up faster than I liked, and he looked supremely happy as he left me in the dust, staggered at time's swift passing. The story is so old. It is also so real, so painful, so sweet, and so relentless. I feel bowed down by its oppressive force.
Someday I'm going to drive off is a gleaming white chariot, chauffeured by my guardian angel. I'll be supremely happy, I won't be looking back, and my baby will wave as I drive off. It'll be good. He'll think that he still has all the time in the world, but his bright red wheels will be just pulling up to the curb. Life is that swift.