Most mornings, I still walk him partway to where he gets his ride to school. On the way, we sometimes chat about what’s going on that day or that week, sometimes we’re quiet, but in my head, I’m talking a mile a minute with unsaid advice, words of encouragement. I’m soaking in every precious moment of time he’s willing to spend with me, time I can be with him. I know these days are numbered. I hug him goodbye, marveling that this boy who is practically a man is now taller than I am, remembering the little kid who bravely walked this same sidewalk with his hand in mine on the way to kindergarten, what seems like days, not nearly a decade, before.
All too soon, he will be riding to school with friends, then off somewhere on his own, finding his way on a campus, picking out haircuts and outfits I have no say about.
And that will be good. Because if we do it right as parents, our consulting clients will eventually fire us, as our services will no longer be needed. That’s how it’s supposed to go—parenting, like growing up, is full of almosts. And this one? This is the best kind of almost: almost gone, but not yet.