I remember sitting in HighSchool English and the teacher had us write out a time line of ages that were important to us and why. Things like at thirteen you were a "teen", at twelve you could get into PG rated movies... everyone had different numbers on their paper except the number sixteen. Maybe because it was the closest to us that most of us were looking forward to. But it was the only common number among all the kids. Sixteen - you get your drivers license.
I remember going to the DMV with my dad. I remember standing in line. I remember that my dad was very upset with me because I had just been caught sleeping over at Jerry's house when he thought I was at Vivian's. I remember thanking the lord that he let me get my license anyway. I remember getting my picture taken. I remember liking that I got to put 118 as my weight when it was really 120. (neither of which I will ever see again) I remember driving home feeling more mature, more responsible, more independent.
Today, at 11:30, I am taking my son to get his license. I am terrified. I am not sure what my parents felt on my special day (I should ask), but I can feel my hairs turning gray, my stomach is in knots and my eye is twitching. The thought of him asking for the car (MY CAR) to go grab a bite, or go to the movies, or go on a date... I am getting hives just thinking about it.
I am sure this will pass... it will be fine. Then in two years I will go through it all over again... and three years after that... and three years after that.

**UPDATED**
I picked him up for school only to drive to the DMV and see a sign on the door saying "Closed for Election Day". He is bummed and I feel bad (only a little) that he will have to wait until tomorrow.