Leveling Up
Working myself out of the best job I've ever had
The kids leveled up this week.
My son turned 13, a bonafide teenager now, and my daughter started high school, which feels less like a new school year and more like the difficulty level advanced while I was still trying to figure out the controls.
But why? She’s ready. Why aren’t I?
I used to be the one who tied their shoes, buckled them into car seats, cut their grapes in half so they wouldn’t choke. Now they have conversations I’m not a part of and opinions that didn’t come from me. That’s a good thing, right?
I was weirdly excited to sign those forms they brought home from school their first day. You know, permission slips and class rules acknowledgements, that sort of thing. My son said, “Oh, dad, I need you to sign these,” as he handed me some crinkled papers.
He needs me! I’m thinking, of course, I got this. Hand those over here. Parent signatures are one of the last remaining parental duties.
Then it hit me: I still have to get to drive them everywhere. I used to think of chauffeuring as a chore. Now I’m realizing it’s a privilege with an expiration date.
I had to drop my daughter off at school for pom tryouts. As I pulled up to the drop off spot where other girls clustered, she quickly turned down the music. Was it really that embarrassing? What’s more hip hop than Beastie Boys? I wasn’t even blasting it.
Before I could say anything about it . . . “Kayloveyoubye!” If my car had an eject button, she would have pushed it. She ran to the cluster of giggling teens who took her into their arms, claiming her as their own. She didn’t look back and I drove away.
Every milestone feels like a strange trade. They gain a little more confidence, a little more independence, a little more of themselves. And in exchange, they need a little less of me. I feel like Marty McFly and I’m fading.
Parenting feels like a game where your job is to keep leveling your kids up until they no longer need you—and then pretending that was the goal all along. That is the goal, isn’t it?
There’s this feeling I never experienced until I had kids. I don’t think there’s a word for it. It’s a mix of pride and fear and hope all tangled together in way that makes my chest ache.
But in a good way.
Like growing.
It’s such a weird feeling. I don’t know adult life without tending to kids and now that those years are waning… I feel like I’m losing a part of my identity.
"Paramount Pictures presents a Kayloveyoubye production..."