Seven-seater
minivans exist for a reason. And not because people who buy them are in love
with their aesthetics. Kids need to be ferried between school and activities;
parents must pool their collective resources of available time so they can also
work. So there is kiddie car-pool and the ugly van that makes it possible. I
have never owned one of these myself but they speak to me in a visceral way.
Many things exist in life because they serve a need and not because they are
glorious and wonderful.
The idea of this
van can be extended to every part of life. Half way through, you are forced to
think if you will spend the rest of it allowing function win over form. I am in
that place lately and not a day passes when don’t ask myself what happens in
the next phase. There is no marker of half-life more brutal than seeing your
kid get drive off in their car for the first time. It rips the figurative
umbilical chord with great finality. This was my experience as a mother and
from speaking with others not uncommon at all.
At first, I tried
to delay my kid’s driver’s education program even as I struggled every day to
manage her crazy schedule alongside mine. I told myself she was too young and
it was not quite safe yet. She had to lean on me pretty hard to get her
learner’s permit. We started her first driving lessons in empty parking lots
and quiet suburban neighborhoods. Memories of her baby life came flooding back.
She was one of those toddlers that skip the crawling phase and try to stand up.
While still wobbly on her feet, she wanted to walk and run. Despite the many
tumbles she took, she would not quit trying to run without having learned to
walk. We got her a walker and she was spinning like a top in any open space she
could find. There was no way to keep her in one place once she had discovered
the joys of mobility.
It was not long
before she grew tired of the parking lots and neighborhoods and wanted to be
out on the open road. Our first long drive was down a long and windy country
road and her exhilaration took me back to those long ago walker days. In time
she came free of that walker and so also she came free of a learner’s permit. A
month ago she became a licensed driver. This is where the parallels ended
abruptly. My one year old baby was mine to hold, care, love and play with. She
was not her own person, she needed me all the time. I got a hero’s welcome when
I returned from work every day. She followed me around the house as I did my
chores – I was the center of her universe. The transition from those days into
her teen-age years was a gradual process with both of us adjusting to change
every day. She gained confidence and freedom to be her own person and I
experienced the relief of not having to mind a baby all the time.
And then there
was that evening when she drove out with the car alone for the first time. This
event seemed to mark the start of the second half of my life – maybe so acutely
because she is my only child. I experienced physical pain and could not quite
celebrate that big moment with her. I did not sleep that night thinking about
her driving to school ten miles away next morning. In the days that followed, I
overcame irrational anxiety but it was replaced by a void where my purpose as a
mother used to be. She is sixteen now and for years she has been a fairly
independent kid. Driving her around as hard as it had been on my work schedule,
was also the last vestige of “tangible” purpose I had left. I know that is not
true even as I write this; that my real purpose as mother has and will be to be
solidly on her side in good times and bad. Being master of her own destiny as
driving allows her to be, has triggered a tremendous mental growth spurt.
Overnight, my kid went from being a child to an aspiring adult.There could be
no better preparation for my impending empty-nest than watching her evolve
every day at a pace I have never seen before.
The seven-seater
minivans are a monstrosity in shape and size. They are that way because they
represent the oversize and often irksome nature of tangible purpose in a
parent’s life. Kids don’t think back fondly of all those times their parents
juggled twenty balls in the air to make sure they made it to their activities,
play-dates and birthday parties on time. Instead they may recall the mundane
afternoon you had a meaningful conversation while they helped you clean dishes
or the night before their big exam when they came to your room well past
midnight for a hug and reassurance. Once the ugly car-pool van becomes
redundant in a mother’s life, the challenge is to recount all of those moments
you were there for your kid; make sure the tally is high enough serve as a
purpose you could be proud of. It is a work in progress for me.
Comments