If you’re currently parenting a 16-year-old, or have already parented a 16-year-old, what is the emotional equivalent of the cervical collar? Parenting at this stage should come with a seatbelt, helmet, neck brace, and required waiver.
I’ll focus on the seatbelt for now and discuss the big one. He’s driving! It’s amazing, but emotionally, I’m fishtailing through 16-year-old territory with no traction control.
I knew that when he began driving himself to school, my mornings would be less harried. I still get up with him in the mornings and try to set a positive start to the day, helping with his breakfast, lunch, or swim bag while he plays the latest inappropriate rap song on Alexa, trying to convince me that today’s lyrics are just as good as The Beastie Boys. Now, I can have this heated debate still in my pajamas! Gone are the days when I had to rush critical conversations like this because I had to wrestle a brush through my hair nest and change into presentable clothes for the car ride to school to leave the house by 6:30 a.m.
And you know what else is gone? The multi-hour midday interruptions of picking him up during school to shuttle him to an appointment. He can now sign himself out of school and drive to his dentist’s appointment without me! And to practice after school, take friends home, schedule and drive to haircuts, run to the market for my forgotten must-have ingredient, and my hallelujah time-saver: return my Amazon packages. The promotion from chauffeur has been transformative in the best way.
This new milestone has been transformative for him, too. He has embraced his new independence and responsibility, and I marvel at how capable he has become. Glimpses of the man that he is developing into peek through more often, and a sense of pride overwhelms my heart.
Simultaneously, paradoxically, it stings. We’ve raised him for this kind of independence, but this milestone makes time feel like it is on fast forward. I’ve felt this before. Another step toward freedom is also a step toward letting go. The symbolic handover of control, not just of the wheel, but of life’s decisions, is inching closer every day. I’m not ready.
It used to be that when he was little, he would internalize things that bothered him — life questions and such. Tucking him in on random nights, after he was under the covers and we were both lying there exhaling the day away, conversations would explode into wonderful discussions and unforgettable moments. There is something disarming about the weighted security of being under the covers, talking side by side instead of face to face. Eventually, the car became a safe place for us to talk for the same reasons. Driving him, both of us facing forward with the hum of the road acting like emotional camouflage, he would initiate discussions that we would probably never have sitting at the dinner table.
Our car time was the BEST! Sometimes it wasn’t the conversation at all; it was the sing-along to the playlist, impressing each other with our word-for-word recitations of competing genre rap songs. Whether it was deep discussions or Grammy performances, the vibe in the car together began to feel, dare I say, equal. The surreal feeling of your child driving you, the literal role reversal, and then driving himself without you, another step to a (hopefully) successful launch from the nest, feels like pride and panic in the same breath.
While I am relishing in my reclaimed time and the joy of witnessing his evolution, my emotions are doing donuts in the high school parking lot. Now, instead of driving him to his life of events, I am learning how to watch him drive toward it. The emotional whiplash hits me as I celebrate his confidence in his newfound freedom, while I also mourn the moments that used to belong to only us. I miss the conversations, laughter, and music we shared, but my heart is full of love and memories for every mile we’ve driven together.
