Today is crisp and clear, typical for a winter morning in Sonoma County. A thin layer of frost clings to the roofs of the houses and cars in our neighborhood. The sun has just begun to rise, painting the eastern sky in pastel hues of pink and orange. My son Sam and I head out to the car like we’ve done a thousand times before only today is different. I get in on the passenger side because Sam is driving to school.

I look over at my son sitting so tall in the driver’s seat, he’s such a handsome boy. His long brown hair hangs in his eyes and spills over the collar of his bright pink hoodie. He’s looking a bit like a Revolver era Beatle. Sam did not pass the vision test at DMV so his impossibly blue eyes are now framed by a pair of stylish glasses. We fasten our seatbelts. Sam presses the power button on the Prius, eases the car out of the driveway and swings it around the arc of our cul-du-sac. Over the course of the past six months, Sam has had ample opportunities to pull the car in and out of the driveway and to practice around the court. This morning however, he’s going a little further. Sam puts on his blinker, checks for cars and crosses the Rubicon. He’s driving into the future and I’m along for the ride.

Sam drives with a calm confidence. I give him a few pointers that he doesn’t really need and the ride is uneventful. Eighteen minutes later we arrive unscathed at the parking lot of El Molino High School. “I love you buddy.” I say and watch him, backpack slung over his shoulder, disappear into the crowd of other kids.

Life is a series of firsts; first kiss, first date, first job. We always remember our firsts. When and where these firsts occur define us and help shape who we are. Today is a big first for Sam and an equally important one for me and my wife Carol. Like all parents we plot the trajectory of our life together by the milestones of our children. Like most transitions that our kids have gone through so far, this one is bittersweet. I can’t help feeling wistful, sitting here beside Sam as he drives us up Guerneville Road. His first “vehicle” was a three wheeled kind of mini chopper. There was a handle attached to the back of the seat that was used to push him along. When Sam’s legs got long enough to reach the pedals, we removed the handle. He was now able to propel himself. Next came his first bicycle, a sporty looking deal with green racing stripes and a horn on the handlebars. Training wheels were firmly attached to the rear wheel. It wasn’t long before Sam declared that he was ready for us to remove the training wheels. Off came the wheels, now here I am steadying his bike from behind while he pedals like mad. He picks up a head of steam and I let go. Just like that he’s off on his own and has never looked back. The bicycles got bigger and so did Sam. Add to that rollerblades, scooters and skateboards, all of which lead to this moment.

When our children were born Carol and I were told to cherish every moment with them because, as the cliche says, “It goes by fast.” We have and it did. Along with the wistfulness this morning comes an enormous sense of pride and love for our son. This is a great accomplishment for him.  Sam has worked hard in order to be sitting behind the wheel today. But we’re not out of the woods yet. Sam’s twin sister is on the cusp of getting her permit. Lucky me. In a couple of months I get to relive this moment!