He had prepped. His dad coached him. He took practice tests on the Internet. He talked to his buddies. He planned his strategy: “Take the written test instead of the computer test because you can’t go back and change an answer on the computer test.” We called the registry office and found the least busy location on a Saturday.
I thought he and his dad could handle it together. I had chores to do. They insisted I come. "It's a momentous occasion in your only son's life," my husband cajoled.
He took about 15 minutes. He handed the examiner the finished test and sat down beside me, discussing two questions he thought he might not have gotten correct. “It’s okay though,” he said confidently, “you only have to get 17 out of 20 in order to pass.”
Then she asked him to come for his vision test behind the screen. As he walked by her desk, he glanced at the graded paper. Then he looked back toward me.
His smile said it all.
The wordless sharing of a significant accomplishment; the mutual satisfaction; the united reveling in that one brief celebratory moment that passed between mother and son, forever emblazoning this shared occasion on our hearts for a lifetime.
“I did it first time!”
“19 out of 20!”
“Now let’s get the license.”
A little premature. She teeter-tottered her hand in the air, speaking dreaded words: “His colour perception is questionable.”
Not likely. The boy who knew his colors at age 3.
“I’m sorry but he’ll have to have an eye examination before we can issue his license.”
It’s Saturday. Where will we find an optometrist with an open appointment today? Off to the mall. At the third optometrist (it’s a big mall), we hit paydirt. An hour later he was cleared for driving and we headed off to the auto club.
Smiling happily, he tucked his new Learner’s License in his wallet beside his new auto club card.
“So, can I drive home?”
He took about 15 minutes. He handed the examiner the finished test and sat down beside me, discussing two questions he thought he might not have gotten correct. “It’s okay though,” he said confidently, “you only have to get 17 out of 20 in order to pass.”Then she asked him to come for his vision test behind the screen. As he walked by her desk, he glanced at the graded paper. Then he looked back toward me.
His smile said it all.
The wordless sharing of a significant accomplishment; the mutual satisfaction; the united reveling in that one brief celebratory moment that passed between mother and son, forever emblazoning this shared occasion on our hearts for a lifetime.
“I did it first time!”
“19 out of 20!”
“Now let’s get the license.”
A little premature. She teeter-tottered her hand in the air, speaking dreaded words: “His colour perception is questionable.”
Not likely. The boy who knew his colors at age 3.
“I’m sorry but he’ll have to have an eye examination before we can issue his license.”
It’s Saturday. Where will we find an optometrist with an open appointment today? Off to the mall. At the third optometrist (it’s a big mall), we hit paydirt. An hour later he was cleared for driving and we headed off to the auto club.
Smiling happily, he tucked his new Learner’s License in his wallet beside his new auto club card.
“So, can I drive home?”
Welome to a new course in the School of Prayer!
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