Two months ago I headed out the front door with my lanky, moody, shaggy-haired teenage son, unlocked the van and, with not a little discomfort, slid into the passenger side. Placing his shiny new driver’s permit in the console, he turned to me with just the hint of a smile. “Mom, the key?” With just the hint of a smile, I handed it over.
He took a deep breath as he backed slowly down the driveway. I felt my shoulders tighten and my brake foot tense (what if he hits the mailbox? what if he forgets to look both ways? what if he takes a curve...

