Updated: July 30, 2019
Originally Published: Oct. 5, 2010
Just last week, my eldest daughter packed her essentials—a well-loved soccer ball, a pair of well-worn sneakers, and her shiny new laptop—and set off for college. The 18 years leading up to this moment felt like a whirlwind. While I’m still adjusting to the reality of sending my firstborn into the world, this journey toward her independence is something I’ve been witnessing for quite some time. I cherish those sweet memories of her first steps, her first words, and her initial ride on the school bus. Little did I know how challenging it would be to create distance between us until the day she learned to ride a bicycle.
Initially, she was hesitant to hop on that bike, which resulted in countless laps around the yard, with me holding the back of her seat as she squealed, “Don’t let go!” in sheer panic. Eventually, I enlisted my brother, who had already taught his kids how to ride. He assured me that his experience and the flat terrain of our beach vacation would work wonders. And it did—mostly. My daughter remained a cautious rider.
Upon returning home, I discovered she had regressed. After a few tears and a bit more running beside her, we found ourselves at the cul-de-sac where she finally regained her confidence, exclaiming, “I’ve got it! I’ve got it!” as she rode in circles. I stood, hands on my hips, panting and feeling a mix of pride and exhaustion. It was a moment of triumph for her, and I was thrilled to see her conquer her fear.
The next day, we ventured out again. She was focused and determined as we rode to the cul-de-sac. After some time, she expressed a desire to explore the neighborhood, and I couldn’t help but agree. However, we soon found ourselves on a steep side street. “Are you sure you want to go this way?” I asked, running beside her.
“Mom! I got it!” she insisted, a hint of irritation in her voice. With that, she ascended the hill and began her descent. In an instant, she was beyond my grasp. My heart raced as I watched her speed away, her little head dwarfed by the oversized helmet, her bike gliding through sunlit patches on the shaded street.
The scene was picturesque until her front wheel started to wobble. I rushed forward, but it was futile. Rooted at the top of that hill, a revelation dawned on me: this is what parenting is all about. It’s about watching your children grow smaller in the distance and trusting—trusting in grace, in their abilities, and in the lessons you’ve imparted. I had to let go, both terrified and proud.
When she reached the bottom, she stopped, turned, and raised her fist in victory. I cheered, relieved that she was far enough away not to see me let out a deep breath. But as soon as I relaxed, she was ready to do it all over again. That’s when I learned my second lesson: letting go is daunting at first, but with time, it becomes more manageable.
Since that day, there have been numerous milestones that required me to step back: allowing her to stay home alone, walk to the pool across a busy road, and eventually, drive. While I like to think I’ve improved at this process, life continues to present new challenges.
As her high school graduation approached last spring, I found myself preparing for the next big transition. When she walked out the door for the last week of school with a lunch made by her dad, I suddenly saw her as too grown-up for that. I envisioned her sharing meals with friends in the college dining hall or preparing instant noodles in her dorm—her father’s lunches now just a memory.
Now, that moment has arrived. After only one week at college, the sole communication I’ve received from her is a text that simply reads, “College life,” accompanied by a snapshot of a microwavable bowl of mac and cheese. Clearly, she’s not missing Dad’s sandwiches.
I hope this college experience will be the ultimate solo adventure for her—one I can’t run alongside her for. Like that day in the cul-de-sac, I’m exhausted from the emotional toll, yet her departure is bittersweet. I will miss our morning chats and the banter over family dinners. I’ll worry about her classes and safety, but I must trust that when her bike wobbles, she can regain control. When she does, I’ll be here, cheering from the hilltop, ready to celebrate her victories.
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Summary
This article reflects on the bittersweet journey of parenting, particularly as children grow and seek independence. The author shares personal anecdotes about her daughter learning to ride a bike and the emotional challenges of letting go as she heads off to college. Ultimately, it emphasizes trust and the inevitable milestones that come with raising children.