Night Driving With My Son...

 My father died when I was eight-years old. I remember much of that time. I think I grew up fast the moment my mom sat me down--she sat all three of us down individually--and told me my father had passed away. It wasn't a shock or a surprise--he had been sick for months and not getting better.

Even that young, I thought I understood what that meant for me.

It's understandable...I had no idea.

Thankfully, I had a big brother who did things for me that would have been done by my dad, namely, teaching me how to drive. Since we live in America, having a car and a drivers license is the norm, especially out west. I remember the first time my brother and I took out the family car, a 1977 Pontiac Ventura (think Chevy Nova, but with a Pontiac shield on it...). We drive on the back roads of western Farmington. Don't look for those areas now. The roads are still there, but they're no longer "back roads."

 I grew up, got married, and had children of our own. They've grown up and are doing the things I once did. Thankfully, I'm there for them to help do those things. 

Tonight, my son and I went night driving. He's the last child working toward his license and we're within an hour or two of the night driving requirement. Since it's at night, about the time he comes up and asks if we should go driving, many times I'm beat. After long 10-hour shifts, I just want to sit on the couch, but I do get up and go for a couple of reasons. One, is that I genuinely want to help. I want to see him achieve his goal.

And secondly, it will soon be over. In no time at all he'll never need to ask me to go with him. He'll go by himself wherever he needs to go. I won't hear the question, "Dad, you want to go driving?" With each step closer to his goal, it means one less opportunity to be with him, one fewer chance to help. It's a humbling thought.

Helping my kids learn to drive is just one more thing that approaches, arrives, and then is gone. As I walked into the house tonight, the sun having set and darkness engulfing the roads, the homes, fields, everything...

Just like our times together...it all ends, eventually.