NEWS

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I sat on the concrete stoop with my dad. No other cars were in the parking lot, and the doors were locked. Still, there we were, waiting for the DMV to open on my 16^th birthday. It took a lot to get me out of bed early back then, but getting my driver’s license warranted waking with the sunrise.

An overprotected, only child before helicopter parenting came into existence, I saw my license as the key to an independence I’d never tasted. I could take myself to school, park where I wanted, drive to town, listen to my own cassettes, and even cruise the mall. This was my ticket to freedom, and I wanted it in my wallet as soon as possible.

Luckily, the morning went according to plan. I passed my test and even took a good picture, complete with my Debbie Gibson bangs and Generra shirt. In less than an hour, the world became my oyster, and by noon I was driving friends to the local pizza place for lunch. There was nothing I couldn’t do.

What I never considered that day was how my parents felt about this transition. Sure, they had taken the time to teach me to drive, let me chauffeur them all over Cabarrus County, and generously bought me a used car, so they knew what was coming. But did they really understand what a change this would be for them? No more riding to school with my dad while 104.7’s easy hits filled the air. No more late pick-ups after play practice with my mom. No more needing them as much.

I’ve pondered this a lot lately, as my 16-year-old twins got their licenses last month. Just like me, they counted down the days until it was their turn at the DMV. I was excited for them because I remembered how elated I was the day I first held my shiny license. And despite how worried I had been about them driving alone, I felt a sense of calm knowing that they had worked hard for this moment and that my husband and I, along with their driving instructors, had prepared them as best we could.

From left, Margot and Graydon Tate minutes after getting their driver's licenses. Oh the places they'll go.

Still it stung as they drove off to school the next morning — without me. Suddenly, my head filled with a montage of our driving history. I could hear the Thomas the Tank Engine songs we used to sing while we rode to preschool, followed by my son shouting from the backseat that he’d spotted a fire truck. Then there was my daughter belting out “Party in the USA” as a tween and finally sporadic silence as cell phones and ear pods won their attention. I suppose that was good training because now the backseat of my car is completely silent, and devoid of candy wrappers, half-empty water bottles, and the occasional rolling of eyes.

It's a little lonely, but I realize that driving is a rite of passage. It’s as natural as when they took their first steps. Though I felt melancholy that first morning, I soon discovered, while listening to whatever I wanted to on my car radio, that this was a new form of independence for me, too. No, they don’t need me to take them everywhere anymore, but they do need me. I’m reminded of that when they have a bad day at school, suffer a disappointment, or leave their lunches at home.

So, as I enter this new world filled with curfews instead of carpools, I’m excited for what’s ahead for my kids — and for me. It’s an adventure, just like that morning when I sat at the DMV with my dad.