Tires. You want tires for graduation. No matter how many times I ask, how many chances I give you to change your mind, you want tires. "I don't want stuff," you say, "just tires."Tires it shall be.
Tires to take you to college, to work, to wherever you decide to go.
Yes, the tires will take you, but I will let you go.
Of course I will miss you. I will miss your silent eye rolls when stupidity threatens to overtake a situation, your steady, strong presence in the school halls and your camaraderie in the yard, your guffaw that escapes when I least expect it, and your enduring grin that breaks through when I do expect it.
Still, I will let you go.
A lifetime ago, I wouldn't let you out of my sight, then I wouldn't let you out of the house. Eventually, the boundary edged the yard, the block, and our side of town. Now, the boundaries are nonexistent. Now, I don't want you to stop.
Now, you are ready.
When you offer a frail great-grandparent your solid arm, you prove you are ready.
When you follow the rules that matter and ignore those that don't, you prove you are ready.
When you do the right thing when nobody is watching, you prove that you are ready.
So use the tires. Use the tires and go. Choose your destination, follow your instinct, and disregard all boundaries.
Whatever you do, don't stop.
