So was 10. And even 15 wasn't all that bad.

But my youngest son is now 20 (and ... gasp! ... he'll turn 21 in a few short months). And he's at that age where I wish I'd never have let him get his driver's license (as if I had any choice).

Now he goes anywhere and everywhere he wants to go—I have very little control.

When he was 5 it was easy.

"You can go as far as the corner in that direction," I'd say, pointing one way down the street, "and you can go as far as the Harrington's house down that way," I'd add, pointing in the other direction. "And stay out of the street!"

When he was 10, it was still pretty easy.

"You can play in the neighborhood," I'd say, "but be home before the street lights come on."

It started to get a little more difficult at 15. But he still had to depend on me for transportation, I could still institute a curfew and I could still mortify him with the thought of possible parental embarassment.

"OK, you can go to the video arcade with your friends," I'd say. "But I'm coming to pick you up at 10 p.m., and if you're not out front waiting for me, I'm coming in to look for you ... and I'll be wearing my bathrobe and Mom's fuzzy slippers."

"You wouldn't," he'd plead.

"Just try me." He never did.

Now he's 20, though, and the situation is almost out of my control ... OK, it is out of my control.

With as much nonchalance as if he were saying, "I'm going to the movies" or "I'm going to the mall," he came in the other day and announced, "Hey, Dad, I'm going to Los Angeles—can I borrow your car?"

"Los Angeles!?!" I shrieked. "When do you thing you're going to Los Angeles?"

"Oh, not for a couple of hours," he replied.

Two hours? That hardly gave me enough time to process the request ... to check the date on the car's last service sticker ... to come up with a perfectly good why reason why he shouldn't and couldn't go!

"Uh, you can't go," said explained, stammering to come up with a reason. "The car hasn't been serviced for a while."

"I checked the sticker," he said. "It's not due for another service until March."

"Well, too bad ... you're not driving down to LA by yourself, and that's all there is to it!"

"I guess you're right, Dad," he admitted.

Well, good ... at least I was getting through to him. He was getting the idea that I didn't want him to go. Or so I thought.

"I'm not going alone," he added. "Bret and Dave are going, too."

When exactly was it that I lose control?

You know, no matter how old our children get to be, we as parents are always left to worry as they spread their wings to stretch their limits just a little farther.

Last weekend, that was a road trip to LA in the family car. But it seems like only yesterday when it was a ride to the Harringtons on his Big Wheels.

Want to talk? Call me at 408.354.3110, ext. 31, or drop me a note at dsparrer@svcn.com.