Today Tesla passed his test and obtained a learner’s permit.
This means my son can drive. (Admittedly not until he finishes his first hour of behind-the-wheel training, but still…the State of California just authorized him to operate a motor vehicle.)
The preemie who spent 3 weeks in the NICU after reaching the world more than six weeks before he was due.
The baby who said his first words at exactly six months old. (The words were “I love you” and he said them on Superbowl Sunday, 1996. He’s been upstaging events ever since.)
The kindergartener who stopped me at the entrance to the school the very first day and said, “It’s ok, Mommy, I’ve got it from here.”
And the teenager who somehow manages to juggle school, activities, Warcraft and nascent plans to take over the world, while still finding time to go to Pinkberry with Mom.
Ahead of schedule, making an entrance, confident to a fault – and this morning, as proud as I’ve ever seen him, walking out of the DMV with his permit in his hand. Does it make me feel old? Not a bit. Just proud.
But take my advice: stay off the streets for 48 hours or so, or at least stay off the sidewalks.