Learning to Fly

The bittersweet memory of teaching my daughter to drive.

I haven’t offered up some original writing in awhile. Today, I’m sharing a piece I wrote a few years ago, as part of piece of book idea that I have to combine personal essays about motherhood with some of my original textile bird artwork. I hope you enjoy the piece.

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I park and get out of the car, passing my daughter as I move from the driver's seat into the back seat. My daughter slides behind the wheel of the car as I settle into the backseat. My husband, in the passenger seat, steels himself to begin our daughter’s first driving lesson.

As we lurch around the empty parking lot, I fall into disbelief. Wasn’t it only yesterday that we nervously brought her home from the hospital? I sat in the backseat that day too, my hand resting on her tiny body, worrying for her safety. Was she breathing? Was the car seat locked correctly into position?