Out of the Closet
Posted by Carol Starr Schneider on Mar 18th, 2008
Today I walked out of my walk-in and into the light. I won’t lie. It felt good to get out of there.
My lungs filled with air. It was nice to breathe again. The sweet smell of success trumped the funky aroma of worn-out tennies and neglected laundry.
I’d been in hiding since my son flunked his driver’s test again. I felt badly for him. I felt badly for me.
Today brought an end to my Blue Period. I bid adieu to that closet of despair. I shut the door. I took a few steps and then a few more. I looked heavenward and beamed.
There are moments when I go all religious. This, my friends, was one of them.
“Oh my God!” I shouted. “Oh my God!” I shouted again.
This time I played it differently. This time I didn’t schlep him to the DMV. This time I turned the whole thing over to a higher authority. I called on the power of Valley Bob.
“Oh Valley Bob, king of all driving schools, please work your magic,” I pleaded.
“Oh Valley Bob, I beg of you, get the boy his license,” I bowed my head and handed over my credit card.
“Oh please!” I added for effect.
Valley Bob eyed the boy in question. “Long as he doesn’t do anything stupid, he’ll be fine.”
Wiser words have never been spoken.
Valley Bob tipped his hat and gave me a wink. “He’s gonna get it this time. You’ll see.”
“Can I have that in writing?” I asked.
Valley Bob didn’t crack a smile. He looked at my son, sternly. “Let’s do this.”
Off they drove, my son behind the wheel, determined not to let his own demons hog the right of way this time.
An hour passed and then another. I paced back and forth until the phone rang.
“Hello?” I said, trying to sound optimistic. Fail or pass, I’d still love the boy just the same.
“I did it,” he said. “I got my license, Mom.”
My eyes filled with tears. This is what I’d longed to hear.
“I knew you could do it! I never had any doubt!” I said.
Okay, so maybe I had some doubt. After all, this wasn’t his first time up at bat.
“We have to celebrate,” I said.
And celebrate we did, with tuna melts and French fries and Caesar salad.
My husband and I looked at each other in disbelief. Another driver in the family. Another hefty insurance bill. Another son keeping us up late with worry. Another lesson in letting go.
My head started to hurt. I needed some guidance on these weighty matters. Anxiety-ridden, I rang the man with all the answers.
“Oh, Valley Bob, why oh why must they grow up so fast?”
“Will that be Visa or Master Card?”
“Visa. So… any insight?”
“Beats me,” Valley Bob said.
“I’m not ready for this,” I confessed.
“No one ever is,” said Valley Bob. “No one ever is.”
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