I’m not the type of mother who typically makes a big deal out of my children’s major life milestones. 

With five children, my brain simply lacks the capacity to keep track of when everyone first walked, talked, and lost their first tooth. This makes for some awkward conversations when my children come to me looking to fill in the gaps of their developmental histories: To the question, “When did I take my first steps?” my answer is, “Uhhh, I can’t remember exactly…. Around the usual time?” And somehow, I have absolutely no memory of my fourth child’s first word. 

While everyone else plasters social media with “first day of the new school year” photos featuring all their beaming children lined up on the front steps in matching outfits, holding little printouts of the grades they’re entering…I routinely forget to take a first day of school photo. During the years when I homeschooled my children, it was hard to muster much enthusiasm for a photo-op when at most they were walking up a flight of stairs (often still in their pajamas.) Now the majority of my offspring leave the house for school: different schools, with different start times and different first days. How do I work with that?!?

I think we do a nice job as a family celebrating birthdays and holidays, but we certainly don’t do anything flashy or extravagant. Presents, cards, a cake, the option of a little party with friends or family — what more could you want? 

I love my children fiercely, I just don’t like to put all my celebratory energy into a single event, and over time I’ve learned that it’s better that way. The bigger the buildup of expectations, the harder the letdown afterwards — not to mention the increased stress during the event itself.

But just yesterday my eldest daughter got her driver’s license, and to my shock it feels like a really big deal. 

I didn’t see it coming. The process of getting a driver’s license is more of a marathon than a sprint; in my daughter’s case, it lasted more than a year. 

In Vermont, you’re eligible to get a Learner’s Permit at age 15 after passing an online test. My daughter took the online test at school, with two friends looking over her shoulder. She came home and announced proudly that the only answer she’d missed was the one for which her friend had fed her the wrong answer. She was shocked and dismayed when we informed her that this practice is commonly known as “cheating,” and that she’d have to email the Vermont DMV and ask to retake the test. (The Vermont DMV was confused by this request, but the lesson was learned.) 

A Learner’s Permit is just the beginning: Over the course of the next year, Vermont teens must complete 40 hours of driving practice with a parent or other adult (with at least 10 hours being nighttime driving) and pass a state-approved driver’s education course with 30 hours of classroom study, 6 hours of behind-the-wheel training, and 6 hours of observation. Then, and only then, is one eligible to take the written and behind-the-wheel tests that are required for a Junior Driver’s License. This all seems a lot more complicated than when I was a teenager, but perhaps I’m forgetting. 

What I do remember from my own driver education is my father attempting to teach me how to drive a standard shift car in the empty parking lot of an office park. After a couple of lessons, my parents purchased their first automatic shift car; to this day I still can’t drive standard. 

We didn’t attempt to teach our daughter to drive a standard shift, but we spent a lot of time in the car with her; forty hours do not pass by in the blink of an eye. I loved those hours, though. I know some parents can’t stand the anxiety of being in a vehicle with their child behind the wheel, but I never felt that way. My daughter is an excellent, careful driver, and I treasured the excuse to spend those hours with her talking, listening to her favorite music, and occasionally offering driving tips. 

I remember my high school driver’s education classes, taught by Mr. Riddle. Mr. Riddle, who said, in his thick Southern Virginia accent, “Don’t speed to get somewhere on time; just leave earlier!” and, “When you get behind that wheel, you’re driving a 4,000-pound weapon!” I remember the terrifying movies we had to watch about teen driving gone wrong. (Do I recall correctly that one of them was called “The Last Prom?”) 

My daughter didn’t have the same driver’s education experience I did: Her classes were taught at night, online. She didn’t get to watch “The Last Prom,” but I was happy to hear that there were some similarly traumatizing movies. 

I remember the shame of failing my first behind-the-wheel driving test. I’d never failed anything before, but I took a turn too tightly and hit the curb. I was certain that any future chances of life success had ended right then and there, but it turns out that life is longer and more forgiving than my 16-year-old self realized at the time.

Which is what I told my daughter when she failed her driver’s test the first time around, for hitting a curb during a three-point turn. It’s important to learn that you can survive failure. 

Yesterday, I was working at the youth room desk in Ilsley Library when my daughter flew downstairs, a huge grin across her face. “I passed it!” she gushed, hugging me. She showed me her temporary license. She’d driven herself to the library. It turns out that once you get your license, they just let you drive. Right away. 

I am thrilled for my daughter. Frankly, it’s great for all of us. I’ve never had as many offers of help from her as I have over the past 24 hours. “Do you have any errands you need me to do? Anything you need from the store?” Tomorrow, she plans to drive herself to school — an hour away — which will be a logistical game-changer for our family (and, we hope, will teach her to take responsibility for being on time!) And after three months, when she’s able to drive her siblings around, my work here just may be done.  

It’s cause for celebration, but I couldn’t help but feel a twinge: This changes everything. I’m so proud of my daughter for her hard work, and I’m grateful for our times together in the car over the past year and for what she learned in the process — not just about driving, but about integrity, responsibility, and perseverance. 

Still, that piece of plastic in her wallet is proof of another way in which she no longer needs me. That piece of plastic means that she can go farther and faster than ever before. It’s the beginning of a process that will change me from mom-as-taxi-driver to a mom who looks for headlights. But after she swooshed out of the library yesterday, all I could see were taillights. 

Faith Gong has worked as an elementary school teacher, a freelance photographer, and a nonprofit director. She lives in Middlebury with her husband, five children, assorted chickens and ducks, one feisty cat, and two quirky dogs. In her “free time,” she writes for her blog, The Pickle Patch.