Trust

My cell phone is getting used a lot more lately. I just can’t help it. I make the Rookie Driver call me when he arrives at his destination and also when he is leaving to drive home (yes, my Mother Hen Syndrome is rearing it’s ugly head). I know exactly how long it should take him and I wait for the inevitable call or listen for the garage door to open. I then stop my frantic pacing and jump onto the couch and grab a book pretending that I’m reading when he walks into the room. I try to exhibit a calm and collected façade; something that is totally foreign to me since he started driving solo. With elaborate casualness striving to seem unconcerned I nonchalantly ask, “How did it go?” I always get the same gruff reply, “Fine.”

Hubby watches this forever recurring performance from the sidelines with amusement. He shakes his head and tells me I have to let go and trust the Rookie Driver. Easier said and done. But if you think about it, how long can I keep this little charade up?

It would be unwise to speculate what detrimental effect and probable permanent psychological damage this could cause. Astronomical to be sure. Needless to say, it is definitely time to let go and trust my son.

Are you sure trust isn’t a four-lettered word?