At 7:33 this morning, history was made. It is the start of another school year for my three kids, and they went off to class without a parent behind the wheel of the car.
My eldest son is driving now. And with no fanfare or photos to record the moment, he took his younger brother and sister to school. Being the proud parent that I am, I sent them off with a stout wave and a shout of encouragement, but they seemed more intent on firing up the radio and, thank goodness, buckling up, too. They ignored me.
I learned last spring, when my son first started driving solo, that I am no longer in control of what happens when he's on the road. I am powerless. But that doesn't mean I shirk responsibility. So I've set clear expectations and still frequently remind him of what he should and shouldn't do: no drinking or taking drugs, no racing, wear a seat belt and no picking up somebody you don't know. I'm confident he's stuck to those rules, though I am not so sure as it relates to his cell phone. I am afraid his father hasn't set a good example with technology to go.
As a result, when my son sets out on a date with his girlfriend or to the movies with friends or to school with his siblings, I am not afraid. I know the risks of the road and the dangers anytime a teenager is in a car. But I don't lie awake at night waiting for him to come home or even wondering where he is or what he's doing. I trust him, and he trusts me to trust him, too. So far, the quid pro quo has worked.
If only I could apply such confidence in the course my life is taking.
Sober and relatively sane after all these years, I know how to steer clear of the pitfalls that once taunted me to drink and take drugs. Even in the past few years, with things on the homefront in crisis, I somehow managed to pull myself up after sinking too deep into the quicksand of futility of trying to convince somebody else that I knew what was best for her, for me and for us. A hard lesson learned the hard way usually makes for an easier time down the road.
But there I was on a walk around a lake in Minneapolis a few days ago sharing conversation with a new friend whose wisdom is deeper and richer than mine by much more than just the year or two that separates us in age. (I think I'm older.) I have had virtually nothing to do with her life's experiences, her values or her terms of engagement with anyone else over the decades. Without me, she's earned her veteran's stripes. And as we walked around the lake on a pristine late summer afternoon, I so enjoyed the moment that I suddenly found myself living beyond it in anticipation of what to do to keep it alive. I was in a time and space that hasn't occurred, at least not yet.
Never mind a road less traveled. At 50, I never have been on this route before. But I've decided to hang on by letting go, just as I do every time my son drives away.
William Moyers is the vice president of foundation relations for the Hazelden Foundation and the author of "Broken," his best-selling memoirs, and "A New Day, A New Life." Please send your questions to William Moyers at wmoyers@hazelden.org. To find out more about William Moyers and read his past columns, visit the Creators Syndicate Web page at www.creators.com.
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