When It’s Time to Let Him Drive the Bus (Literally and Figuratively)

There’s a particular tension many of us who parent kids with disabilities understand deeply: the constant race to secure services and support while also wanting our kids to simply live their lives. We work so hard to make sure they have what they need—special education services, accessibility, skilled providers, thoughtful accommodations—and at the same time, we want them to have space to be who they are, without everything becoming another appointment or goal.

This year, with Dalton being a senior, that tension has felt especially real.

He has poured so much effort into school, advocacy, his activities, and his future—earning a 4.0 GPA and receiving incredible college offers. Now, as he stands on the edge of adulthood, he’s focusing on things that matter to him at this stage of life: learning to drive (yes, literally learning to drive the bus…or at least the car), working, spending time with friends, and enjoying these final months before everything changes. These aren’t distractions. These are meaningful, healthy teenage priorities.

And while I am incredibly proud of him, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel the pull of the familiar advocate voice in my head:What about the last months of O&M (cane instruction)? What about when the IEP ends?

The clock is real. The transition is real. But so is his right to shape this time in a way that feels authentic to him.

The Hardest Part of Advocacy Is Knowing When to Step Back

This year has pushed me to remember something essential: Self-determination isn’t a checkbox or a goal—it’s a lived experience.

It’s tempting to assume I know the “right” timing for everything. It’s tempting to hold on tightly because the IEP feels like the last safety net. But growing up means making choices—thoughtful, informed choices—and that includes choosing how to spend time, what to focus on, and how to balance independence with support.

None of those choices reflect a lack of appreciation for services or the professionals involved. They also do not reflect on me as a parent in any negative way. They reflect a young person stepping into adulthood, with his own voice and values guiding him.

And they reflect a parent learning how to shift—from directing to supporting, from planning to trusting.

The Work That Is Mine (and Not His)

What I’ve realized is that the discomfort I feel isn’t about Dalton at all. It's about me.

It’s the fear of letting go of systems that have held us for so long. It's the worry that if we don’t use every last service minute, I’m somehow falling short. It's the instinct to squeeze in just a bit more skill-building before he graduates.

But those feelings belong to me, not him.

My role now is to ensure he has the information he needs, to help him think through decisions when he wants input, and to step back when he’s ready to take the lead. It’s not my job to decide what “should” matter to him during this season of life. It’s my job to respect what does matter to him.

And he has earned that respect.

Letting Him Drive the Bus—Literally and Figuratively

For years, I’ve used the phrase “letting them drive the bus” as a metaphor for stepping back and letting our kids lead. But now Dalton is actually learning to drive, and the metaphor couldn’t feel more real.

Watching him behind the wheel comes with a swirl of emotions—pride, joy, nervousness. But it also reminds me he can steer his own direction. He’s growing. He’s making choices that reflect who he is—not who I was at 17, not who the system expects him to be, and not who I might imagine he should be.

He is charting his own path, step by step. And part of that path includes being a teenager—fully, joyfully, appropriately.

Honoring the People Who Helped Us Get Here

While this shift toward independence belongs to him, I also recognize that we didn’t arrive at this moment alone. Over the years, we have been supported by remarkable professionals—teachers, specialists, O&M instructors, TVIs, audiologists, case managers, and so many others—who poured time, skill, and heart into Dalton’s growth. Their commitment built the foundation that allows him to take the wheel now with confidence. For that, I am deeply grateful.

This Isn’t About Me—And That’s the Point

Letting a young adult take ownership of their life doesn’t mean stepping away. It means stepping into a new kind of relationship—one built on trust rather than direction.

It means recognizing that his future is his to shape, and my role is to support with guidance, not to steer every part of the journey.

It means that when we decide to “opt out” of a service or adjust priorities, it isn’t a sign that anything is lacking or that we don’t value what has helped us along the way. It simply reflects where he is developmentally and emotionally, and it reflects my commitment to raising a self-determined human who gets to make choices that genuinely matter to him.

My role is shifting. It's bittersweet. But it feels right.

What I Know for Sure

What I know for sure is how proud I am of him—of the effort he’s put in, the person he is, the young adult he is becoming, and what is next for him. His strength, his independence, and the way he knows his own mind make me proud. Watching him step into this next chapter with confidence and heart is one of the greatest privileges of my life. I love you buddy! Can't wait to see you continue to shine in this next chapter.