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Parenting can be epitomized by one rite de passage all moms and dads know well: teaching their child to ride a bicycle / bike (which when I grew up we called a two-wheeler, distinct from a tricycle / trike). You sit them down on it, hold on to the saddle, tell them to start pedaling, then run along behind them as they pedal faster and faster, gathering speed. And then ... that instant when you let go, and they're on their own, and their magic moment of discovering balance is upon them. Will they fall? Will they make it? They remain upright! The joy, the cheering "Yaaayyy!!!" as a line of becoming independent and learning to live their life, is crossed. It's a line over which you and your child will never go back.
And now here he is, living in his own neat, orderly apartment, gainfully employed, loved and admired by co-workers, friends and family alike, a brilliant chef and seasoned traveler and explorer just a tad shy of his thirtieth birthday, entertaining me / taking care of me (the child is father to the man now, as William Wordsworth may have said), driving me around in the camper van he built for himself by himself, sharing with me his fabulous life and environs. I've let go of the bike. My concerns, doubts, and trepidations are dispelled. Now there's no doubt whatsoever: he's discovered balance for himself.
When he was ten years old, he graduated from the Landmark Forum for Young People and Teens. Although he hasn't (yet) gone on to participate in other programs, it doesn't matter. The genie's out of the bottle. I speak with him in ways I would speak with any adult graduate. It's resulted in a certain quality in our relationship. The conversations we have, work. They're open, bone-numbingly honest and authentic. It's the most satisfying joy of being a parent listening your child literally inventing their own future in front of you. And his future just gets brighter and brighter. It's all happening. He's walking the talk.
These days his hair is no longer bright blonde. It changed. He went to bed one night blonde, and woke up the next day, hair dark brown. Well, not exactly overnight, yet in hindsight it seems that way. His hair color change marked his sweet baby child years morphing into his mature independent adult years, from being dependent to being a provider, from being my baby boy to being my equal. That said, he'll always be my Dad, and I'll always be his Blonde Boy.