“Oh, how I wish I had the forethought to bring my camera out to the porch one recent morning this week to capture the sight of three little Chevrolets, their bright red brake lights blinking, as they wound their way down our hill of a driveway, to turn left onto a waiting County Road #16, then disappear into the early morning rain. The memory will have to occupy my thoughts for now, but that won’t pose a problem.

It had been a little more than 12 hours before, as Mike and I, eager for their arrival, watched those same three vehicles make the wide right turn, climb up our curvy driveway, and almost comically stuff their cars into the compact paved patch we call our parking area. The first leg of their journey completed, what followed was a reunion of sorts with relaxed conversation on the porch, intermittent text message checks, cookies, dinner, more cookies, followed by a walk to take in the views of the lake and returning to the house in time to enjoy a serendipitous visit from a doe with her fawn as the evening light faded.

Twelve hours later, somewhat rested, armed with Garmin coordinates engaged, stocked with homemade cookies and blueberry muffins, and the final exchange of warm hugs that would have to last until we saw each other again, it was only the soft trio of waking car engines, the sound of windshield wipers rhythmically swishing away the dreariness of rain, and wet tires on asphalt that accompanied them as, one by one, down the driveway they went into the gray light of what looked like morning.

As the driver of the third car reiterated their good-byes with the toot of his car horn, I don’t know how Mike was feeling, but for me, each toot punctuated the emotions I was feeling. Knowing that they were filled with more anticipation of their respective futures and new experiences than of cookies and muffins, and happy they were so, two young people who Mike and I have had the privilege of watching grow into young adults, were headed off to college, with Dad following them as they went.

Perhaps, from the two college-bound drivers, depending on their mood or perspective, Dad was in tow and felt to them like the proverbial ‘third wheel’. As a parent, if this was so, having ‘been there and done that’, and knowing him as I believe I do, I hoped he was at peace with his position. I remember that time of transition, caught in the place of looking forward, and with hindsight, looking back, celebrating children in the throes of embracing life and purpose, but knowing you’re older, and getting older, with the intensity of parenting less and less and the question of your own ‘what nows’ looming in your consciousness more and more. I remember the struggle with the expectations of letting go at odds with the temptations of holding on, concerned with the timing of what to do and when to do it.

It seems this is the life of a parent…traveling somewhere already mapped out, with a destination you’re unsure of…praying you have the Godly wisdom to know whether you need to be in the lead, teaching and providing guidance, or whether you need to vigilantly, and sometimes gut-wrenchingly, choose to take your place in the rear, trusting the lead of your children, while at the same time, generously offering assistance when their signals might indicate a change of plans ahead.

But off they went, the youngest leading the pack, her car’s headlights reflecting off the rain-drenched road ahead of her. Closing my eyes, the somber atmosphere certainly characterized how I felt and I wondered if he felt it, too. A toot from his car horn was all I needed to know that, for now, he was comfortable with his position – in the rear, choosing to follow from a distance, moving into the future God held for his children, while still keeping a watchful father’s eye. You’re on your way, friend. Here’s to many more great travels.”