Just like that…he drove.
While in my head…he’s still in a Cozy Coupe…his fat little legs pushing the red and yellow car down the sidewalk, stopping to fill the gas tank with rocks and twigs before “Fred Flinstoning” his feet back into the driveway…then out again to repeat the process.
It lasted for hours.
Then, a few days ago, I pulled into the parking lot while waiting for Bones at volleyball…I turned off the car, and handed Spiderman the keys.
We switched spots.
He put on his seatbelt, adjusted his mirrors, tested out the gas and brake with just a small hint of apprehension…and drove.
In and out of parking spots. Around poles. Up and down the lot. Speeding up. Slowing down. Stopping.
He went forward, he reversed, and after 40 minutes…he parked between two cars and we went inside the gym to watch the rest of practice.
He…feeling that much more mature.
Me…feeling a little bit tired…a little bit old. A little excited for the amount of driving I won’t have to do in just a few more months. A whole lot proud of how well he did and how comfortable he seemed.
And maybe a tiny bit sad.
For the days when he didn’t need to ask how hard to press the brake ’cause he just dragged his tiny sandalled feet until the plastic car came to a stop.
For the multiple times I had to turn the car upside down, to shake from the tiny gas hole, the Polly Pockets belonging to his big sister…mixed in with rocks and twigs and grass and ants.
For the plastic tire that cracked from hours of use…that he patched with bandaids…and duct tape.
For the smile on his face as he turned the key…in that plastic Cozy Coupe.