Letting go of Abby

Our daughter, Abigail, got her license a few weeks back. It was a long time in coming. She completed driver's education when we lived in Indiana, but we moved to Michigan just a few weeks before she was eligible to get her Indiana license. Initially we thought we might let her just use our old Indiana address to get her license and then just transfer it to Michigan. After rethinking it, though, we thought it would be simpler to just make one transaction after we moved.

We were wrong. She had to get her Michigan driver's permit and then undergo a second driver's ed class. Then, she had to take her driver's test. She passed with flying colors and we headed into East Lansing for the MSU vs. Purdue football game to celebrate. The following Monday she and I went to the Secretary of State and she became a full-fledged driver.

The last couple of weeks have been about us taking the training wheels off. He first trip was to the Student Leader meeting for South's youth group. She drove her brothers to school several times. Youth group trips on Sunday night were part of the process, too. The real test, however, took place today when she and her brothers headed south to Grandma and Grandpa's house in Butler, Indiana. The two hour trip took them down Interstate 69 at 70 mph.

The thought of everything that matters to Tracy and I heading down the highway at any speed faster than a Huffy made me twitch. I had them call me when they left the house, when they got on the interstate, when they crossed the state line, when they got off the interstate . . . you get the idea. They arrived safely. End of anxiety, right?

Nope.

A couple hours after arriving in Butler Abby called to ask if she could go to a movie with her friend, John. Who is a boy. Who would be driving her. To the movie. And back to her grandparents. Her first official car date?

I said that this weekend's trip was about us removing the training wheels. The truth is, I think maybe it is more about me learning to let go. To be completely honest, it hurts because I know where this is all headed. Seventeen years ago my wife and I went on our first "post-baby" date and entrusted our little girl to a babysitter for the first time. Today we're racing toward Abby moving into a college dorm and, (gulp!) walking down a church aisle.

When I was about to become a father for the first time a wiser, older man told me, "Frank your children will break your heart." As he was the father of a great kid that made him proud then (and since with a great husband, career, and beautiful granddaughter), I was puzzled by his comment.

I understand now. . .