License to Parent

Twice a judge has banged his gavel on his bench and declared that I have a license to parent.  Well not a license so much, but a certificate.  A decree.  He called it adoption, but we'll call it a license.  And licensed, I thought I was prepared.  I knew what I was doing.  I was ready for the open highway.  And even as I type this I hear a news story about a newly licensed teen who hit the accelerator instead of the break and went crashing into a building and took out three gas meters.  And those early days of parenting I think I took out a few gas meters myself.  Parenting infants and toddlers is hard.  There's the newness of everything, the sleep deprivation, the pee and the poop and the volcanic spit-up.  Getting them to try new things, and getting them to fall asleep in their own beds.  First time left in childcare, and first day of kindergarten.  All can be challenges for the young parent.

But now I'm the parent of two teens.  And I realize that was nothing.  Like riding a bicycle.  And now I'm driving a commercial vehicle...an 18-wheeler.  And I still only have my bicycle license.  And the semi is careening out of control...and wait...I'm not driving it at all, it's coming down the highway in the wrong direction barreling straight at me, and I'm not sure I can get out of the way on time to avoid a collision.  And I'm in a smart car...and the 18-wheeler is going to take me out.  Because we all know smart cars aren't designed to take that kind of impact no matter how smart they are.  And my teen doesn't believe I'm smart at all...I'm the stupidest creature that ever did live.  And then I'm back in the big truck and yanking the wheel and blaring the horn, and hitting the air brakes, and I hear the hissing, and I come to a stop, but not without losing half of my load on the highway, and apparently the truck was filled with a load of fertilizer and there is sh-- all over the highway, and now what do I do?

Yup...that's my parenting experience.  And every morning I have to get up and take the wheel again, because I've got the license, and that's how I earn my living.  And I find myself really disliking those other drivers who seem to have their 18-wheelers under control.  Mostly I guess I'm just jealous of them, because I want to be driving their trucks.  But I've got my own truck.  Or smart car.  Whatever.  And I'm hoping one day to graduate to a nice recreational vehicle, where I can tool around the country and stop where I want and enjoy the view.  But for now...get out of my way, I'm driving the truck.