Dear Auto Insurance,
I’m writing to let you know we’ve given up. We’ve prolonged this as much as we could, but today it happened.
Our oldest son, Thing 1 (the moniker of which I have assigned to keep him off search engines and college inquiries because his mother –me– has a big mouth and flying typing hands) is all-but officially licensed to drive. I mean, he has completed his courses and he can drive alone and whatnot, but he still has to go before a judge (not because of his mother, me, but because the Commonwealth requires it) to get it all official like. I dig that stand-before-the-judge thing.
So he can run errands now. And drive himself to guitar lessons. And take his brothers to soccer practice (when that begins again). And pick up take-out, but not Chipotle because of e. coli. And drive to school. And he’s tall enough now to peel his mother, me, off the ceiling from worry about his whereabouts and safety! Isn’t that great?
And then in eight short months he will be pushing off to college.
Auto Insurance, can you slow things down a little? Maybe just make each day last 36 hours instead of 24? Here we are, attempting to slow time.
His first time driving Nigel.
When the driving began, when he was ready, last summer.
He was so little he fit (and resisted smiling) for the tote bag photo.
I love my son. So very much. I know it’s not your job, Auto Insurance, to protect him, but I just thought I’d put out the request and the energy. The SUV will do its job.
Now for the big quandary: how to let him go….