I help him step out of the truck, curbside at the front door of his middle school building, among the crowd of students waiting for the doors to open. The usual greeting of the teacher or classroom aide who I hand him off to is not yet present. It’s the day after a holiday and we have arrived earlier than usual. I don’t wait. As my 14 year old steps onto the sidewalk he turns and I help him put on his backpack. I look one more time as the early crowd files in, take a solid breath, and ask him, “Do you remember where your classroom is?” He points toward the door. I say to him, “Alright, then go there. Have a good day.” Off he lurches toward the door in his Corban style of walk. I walk back around to the driver’s side but I don’t jump into the cab just yet. I pause with one hand on the door and watch my son with cerebral palsy disappear around the corner of the entrance leading into the front door. He goes boldly. I wait for just a little longer then I get into the truck and slowly drive away. My eyes glance into the mirror to see behind me, looking for him in case he decided to bolt back out of the school. Then I go boldly. The fear that wants to grip my heart tightly, loosens as I pry its fingers away and steel myself to the truth that I cannot always guide his every step. Some days it seems easy to go boldly; some days, not so much.
Today…you go boldly.