The Bus Driver in the Sky

There’s something about old letters.

 The kind that were handwritten with intention, not dashed off quickly. The kind that carried weight before you even read the first line.

 My dad wrote one of those letters when he was 19.

 At the time, he was in college studying business management and marketing. He was a smart guy, just not especially applied—at least not in high school—so he started at a two-year college. And honestly, it sounded like the kind of place that shapes you in ways no classroom ever could… friendships, adventures, laughter that somehow carries into the next 50 years of your life.

 But somewhere in the middle of all that, he figured something out.

 He didn’t want to go into business.

 He wanted to be a pilot.

 So he sat down and wrote a letter home – heart felt and passionate.  In it, he explained that while he wasn’t forced into business, just gently guided there because he didn’t yet know his own direction. But now he felt like he should start making his own decisions. He laid it all out—programs, costs, job outlook. At 19, he had done his homework. He was ready to choose his path.

 My grandparents didn’t see it the same way.

 They shut the dream down, immediately.   Practicality won. Stability won. There were comments about being a “school bus driver in the sky,” and not paying for school and eventually, whether it was fear, finances, or something else, he stayed the course.

 My dad went on to have a 40-year career in business management.

 And here’s the thing, he was good at it. He was happy. He wore the suit, climbed the ladder, built a team that felt like family, and gave us a really beautiful, stable life.

 But he didn’t follow that dream.

 And as a parent now, that letter hits differently.

Because I have sons a lot like my dad. Incredibly smart, capable, but not especially motivated by grades. More interested in life than in the classroom. And if I’m being honest, that’s been hard for me.

 I was the opposite. School was my job. Doing anything less than my best felt like failure. I believed there was a clear path, and if you followed it well enough, it would take you exactly where you were supposed to go.

 So when my boys don’t seem to see that same path… it’s uncomfortable.

I’ve had the thoughts I’m not proud of.
How did we get here?
Why aren’t we aiming for the top schools?
What will people think?

 There’s a quiet kind of peer pressure that exists in today’s world, fueled by social media, acceptance letters, highlight reels of other people’s kids. And it’s easy to start measuring your own life against it.

 But over this past year, I’ve been working really hard to quiet that noise.

 Because the truth is, 18 or 19 is such a young age to decide the rest of your life. Most of us don’t get it right the first time anyway. I didn’t. I chased one path, then changed it completely, and then changed it again when I chose to stay home and raise my kids.

 Life isn’t a straight line. It never was.

 So who am I to decide what their path should look like?

 Will they make mistakes? Of course.
Will they struggle at times? Probably.
Will they change direction more than once? I hope so—that’s where growth lives.

 My job isn’t to map out their future.

 It’s to stand beside them while they figure it out.

 To cheer them on.
To catch them when they fall.
To hand them grocery money when they need it.
To celebrate the moments when something clicks and they start to see who they’re becoming.

 And maybe most importantly, to listen when they share their dreams, even if those dreams look nothing like the ones I had imagined for them.

 Because I keep thinking about that 19-year-old boy, sitting down to write a letter about becoming a pilot.

And I can’t help but wonder what it would have looked like if someone had written back and said,

“Go for it. I believe in you.”

 So that’s the kind of parent I’m trying to be.

The one who hands them the pen.
The one who lets them write their own story.
The one who reminds them that they get to be the pilot of their own life.

And if I’m lucky enough to be part of that journey…

 I’ll be right here, cheering them on—every step of the way.