Recently, my eldest child, Ethan, packed his essentials—a soccer ball, some well-worn socks, and a brand-new laptop—and embarked on his college journey. The eighteen years leading up to this moment have flown by at an astonishing rate. While I’m surprised to see my firstborn leave home, witnessing his strides towards independence is a familiar experience. I cherish those pivotal moments: his first steps, his first words, and that memorable day when he boarded the kindergarten bus. Little did I know that the true challenge of separation would come when he learned to ride a bicycle.
Ethan was not particularly enthusiastic about cycling, so I found myself running alongside him, gripping the back of his seat as he shouted, “Don’t let go!” in a mix of fear and determination. Eventually, I decided to hand over the reins to my sister during a beach vacation. She had successfully taught her three children to ride and assured me that the flat terrain would aid in Ethan’s progress. It worked; however, he remained a cautious cyclist.
Upon returning home, I noticed a regression in his confidence. After a few tears and more laps around our cul de sac, he finally began to find his rhythm, joyfully exclaiming, “I’ve got it!” as he rode in circles. I stood, panting and sweaty, relieved yet proud to witness him conquer his fear.
The next day, we ventured out again, and after some time, he wanted to explore the neighborhood. I agreed, excited to see him taking a risk. However, we unexpectedly found ourselves on a steep side street. “Are you sure about this?” I inquired as I jogged beside him.
“Mom! I got it!” he replied, a hint of annoyance in his voice. And just like that, he went down the hill. In an instant, he was beyond my reach. I held my breath, feeling a wave of realization wash over me. This was the essence of parenting—watching your child grow smaller in the distance while trusting in their abilities and the lessons you have imparted. Rooted at the top of that hill, I accepted my helplessness and fear as necessary parts of this journey.
When Ethan reached the bottom, he stopped, turned around, and raised his fist in triumph. I cheered from afar, relieved yet emotional. He wanted to repeat the experience, and that’s when I learned that letting go can be daunting at first, but you eventually adapt.
Since that day, Ethan has taken numerous steps towards independence—staying home alone, walking to the pool across busy streets, and even driving. Although I’d like to think I’m getting better at allowing him the freedom he craves, life continually presents new challenges.
As he approached his high school graduation last spring, I felt a sense of preparation wash over me. When he walked out the door with a lunch prepared by his father, it struck me how grown he seemed. I envisioned him dining with friends in a college cafeteria or attempting to cook instant noodles in his dorm—his father’s sandwiches becoming a distant memory.
Now, that moment has arrived. After just one week at school, the only message I’ve received from Ethan is a simple text saying, “College life,” accompanied by a photo of a microwavable mac and cheese container. Clearly, he’s not missing Dad’s ham sandwiches.
I hope that college will serve as the ultimate solo venture for Ethan—a ride I cannot accompany him on. Like that day in the cul de sac, I’m exhausted from my efforts, but that doesn’t lessen the emotional weight of his departure. I will miss our morning chats and family dinners. I’ll worry about his academic performance and his safety during social gatherings. However, I must trust that when uncertainty arises, he can navigate through it. When he succeeds, I know we’ll both celebrate—him with a fist raised in victory, and me cheering from my vantage point atop the hill.
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In summary, parenting is a journey of gradual letting go, filled with moments of pride, fear, and trust in our children’s abilities. As they navigate their own paths, we learn to celebrate their successes from afar, embracing the bittersweet nature of independence.
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