Deciding or Reacting?

It was a sunny, but freezing day; and walking though that street would mark the biggest separation I had from my parents. Only one road, just a few steps. This was when I was about two years old. Maybe older, maybe younger, I don't remember. The weather is probably the only thing I remember that didn't have anything to do with what I was thinking about. But now, what was I thinking about? Was what was going on really a separation, was it some twisted idea of mine that after that road I'd be by myself completely, and that by only that age I had to take life-changing decisions. Meaning this separation was only in my mind, but truly was a joke I was playing on myself. Or was I indeed conscious that the separation was only in my mind, and that my parents didn't believe in this separation either. This resulting in me wanting to prove some sort of separation to them. Or maybe I was just trying out something new, something I had never done before, and interested me greatly. It was not the separation of course (what I was interested in), but rather the steps I would take across the road without someone holding my hand.
It was very early in the morning, that's what it felt like at least. I couldn't see the sun, but there was light, which meant I had to be awake and doing things. Sitting at home doing whatever I might come to think of, was definitely not an option. That's what I thought about when my mother woke me. But what was I thinking? I had to go to school! I disliked the fact that I had to call it, "going to school"; yet when I was there, I enjoyed it. Yet before actually being at school, I had to get there. It was pleasing to walk outside the house in the morning. It was during that little distance that I thought of disliking school, but knowing I would eventually enjoy it. The distance I had to walk was probably about 50 meters or so. Everyday I walked, and everyday there would be someone next to me, holding my hand. Most of the times holding my hand, it was my dad who always walked beside me. He was always happy, and I couldn't understand why. Inside my head, it was like a storm. I couldn't decide wether I should be happy by the fact that I had to go to school, or sad, by the very same reason. The storm wouldn't stop until I got to school, and maybe even there, it'd go on. But he, my dad, was standing beside me, smiling. Unaware of the storm in my head. I didn't understand it, how could he be happy while I was having this argument in my head? Everything I felt, he had to feel, he's my father. Even when I looked at him with, my face full of doubt; he'd still be smiling. With him beside me smiling I'd usually end up deciding that going to school should be something I should be happy about. This then made me wonder, what would I end up deciding if I walked by myself? I didn't know.
It was a little town in Germany, where I was living at the time. Many of the people I saw, walked by themselves. And what I thought at that time, was that everyone was equal. If I saw people walking by thmesleves, it meant everyone had to walk by themselves. I thought it to be a standard everyone had to follow. Everyone had to do this, everyone from a crying little baby (that couldn't even walk, yet he had to follow the standard according to my logic back then), to a grown man (that needed the company of someone, since he was too old to take care of himself), to a dog. If everyone had to follow this standard, then I had to, too. I had to walk that distance by myself. I had to get out of the house, walk on the side walk; and cross the street. I could be killed if I wasn't careful, I could even be embarassed if I wasn't careful and a car stopped right in front of me, a few centimeters before hitting me. Meaning I couldn't follow the "walk by yourself" standard. Yet I had to proove that I was able to follow the "walk by yourself" standard. I had to be torn away from my parents when I was walking. I had to be a proper citizen. And the separation had to be extremely clear to my parents. But what if they thought it wasn't a separation and didn't take me seriously? I didn't know.
Whenever I crossed the street with my dad, a feeling of power would embrace me as I looked up at him. Crossing the street meant being powerful. That's what I felt whenever we crossed the street. This then meant, that if he had to be powerful to cross the street, I was weak, walking beside him. Besides being weak about that, I had to be brave too. I had to walk all the way to school! Without bravery, how was I supposed to even get out of the house? These type of decisions were definitely life-changing! I needed to be separate from my father in order to be brave and powerful. But could I? I didn't know.
It was a sunny, but freezing day; and walking the distnace would mark the biggest separation I had from my parents. It was on that day I decided to go to school by myself, being brave and powerful, having the strenght to decide wether I was happy by the fact that I was going to school, having what it takes to be a citizen and follow the "walk by yourself" standard. Yet when I left the house, I onlt experienced fear, after deciding everything else, maybe it was only fear I could feel, or maybe it was everything together, that caused me to be afraid of something new (of all the new things I did). I was indeed full of fear, but my dad was watching me from right outside the house. He'd see me until I got to school. I wasn't sure if that should make me feel better since I knew there was someone partly beside me, or dissappointed, by the fact that I wouldn't be able to prove a separation. That doubt dissappeared immediately, I was full of fear. Still, when I came up to the street, trying to tell my dad that everything was going to be okay (even when I was full of fear), I crossed it. It was a very exciting thing to do, crossing the street. Nothing happened, and the fear didn't go away. Which was probably the best part. This meant that whenever I did that again the rush of feelings would come back fresh. And yet again, I'd be full of fear as I crossed the street. I had completely forgotten about the separation, I think. I was onlt afraid, I was alive, full of fear. But now you, dear reader, tell me, did all the feelings about the separatioin drive me to do this, or was it fear (when I actually faced the situation) that drove me; and isn't fear the very thing that drives us all?