Driving Mr. Daisy

I taught my class at Nashville School of Law last night and because we have the late slot, I didn't get home until after 10 p.m.  The boys already were in bed, although JP had texted me earlier to ask if we could leave for MBA this morning at 6:25 a.m.  He wanted to leave from campus for his morning run before school because, well, he's JP, and that's what he does.  Grind.  

As we left the house and walked down the sidewalk to my truck, I asked him if he wanted to drive.  "Sure," he replied.  JP has had his learner's permit for several months but he normally drives Jude's 17-year old Honda Pilot, which is going to become his car when he turns 16 in March 2024.  He's only driven my truck a handful of times.  My guess is that since we were leaving earlier than normal and there wouldn't be as much traffic, he thought it would be an idea time to get some seat time in the big rig.  

It's an odd and unsettling experience, for me, to ride in my truck with JP driving.  Most of that is because by nature, I'm a driver and not a passenger.  I hate to ride with anyone.  It's a control thing, I know.  I've always felt may inclination to drive, rather than ride, is based on my late birthday (July) which meant all of my friends were driving before I did.  By the time I got my driver's license the summer after my sophomore year of high school, I was sick of riding with others and have no control over where I went or when I could leave.  I vowed to always drive once I got my license and I've held to that for the most part over the past 41 years.  

JP's a pretty good driver, fortunately.  Still learning, of course.  He's a little too cautious but I like the fact that he's not overconfident.  He'll learn like we all do as he gains driving experience.  As a parent, of course, I just want him to be safe on the roads.  I think Jude and I will ease him into driving on his own by starting late this spring or early this summer, after school is out.  Short trips in the neighborhood and not a lot of night driving.  That's my preliminary plan, anyway.  

Sometimes, like this morning, I find myself wondering where the stroller days went and how we got here from there so quickly.  It's trite to say, or write, but it really does feel like only yesterday that I was rolling JP through the neighborhood in the Baby Jogger City Elite stroller.  Those were some of the best days of my life to be sure, wheeling into Bongo Java or the 12South Tap Room on a Saturday afternoon as JP slept  comfortably in the stroller.  

I felt such a sense of rightness, as if for once in my life, I was exactly who and where I was supposed to be at that point in time.  Nothing made me feel more like a father than wheeling JP through the neighborhood on a Saturday or Sunday afternoon, smiling and nodding as I passed other pedestrians.  Those were different days in the neighborhood, of course.  There were very few children to be seen and even fewer strollers.  12South was not 12South.  It was a real neighborhood then with a real neighborhood feel to it, unlike now with overpriced boutique ladies' stores on every block and the sidewalk full of tourists or bachelorettes and their companions.  

JP and I went everywhere in the City Elite.  Everywhere.  It makes me more than a little nostalgic these days when I go into the basement and see it sitting, forlornly, around the corner.  It's a reminder of one of the best times of my life, one since gone.  I can't bring myself to give away the City Elite, although I've thought about it.  I've looked on line and Baby Jogger doesn't make the model anymore, which is a shame.  

Time.  It stretches and elongates, and it disappears.  So fleeting.  So precious.  

The days are long and the years are short.  Never more true than this morning.