Last month was my son Tyler’s promotion to middle school. Not only that, he was also recognized among his peers for academic achievement.

I really couldn’t be more proud.

It seems like it was just yesterday that I was bouncing him on my knee. Come to think of it, it was yesterday, and let me tell you, bouncing a 150- pound teenager on your knee is harder than you think.

I’ve come to a point in my life that I’ve begun to celebrate more of the milestones of others rather than my own. In Tyler’s case, his mother and I get to celebrate at least two (or hopefully three) more graduations, followed by engagements, weddings, and baby showers.

I have to admit, it’s a little bittersweet, but not for the obvious reasons. Of course, I’m getting a little older, but it’s not really about that.

Maybe my sense of wistfulness stems from having once walked in his shoes. Yet, from what I remember, I had a happy and — for the most part — joyful childhood. As far as I can tell, Tyler is living a healthy and happy life as well.

Having walked in his shoes, I vividly remember that back then, no matter what was happening in my life, everything was going to be all right. I felt this not because of anything I did. It was entirely due to my parents.

Everything was taken care of, or so it seemed. They had an answer for everything. Whenever anything went wrong, they knew what to do. If I was the problem, they taught me right from wrong and made me understand why it was important.

I’d often see the struggles and anguish of friends and other family — along with all the drama that ensued — and often thought our family was downright boring, but in a good way. I remember some of these friends and family telling me how lucky I was to be in the family I was in. In my heart, I knew they were right.

My parents always knew what to do — and therein lies the problem.

When Tyler was about three years old, I was away on business. On this particular summer day, my wife was home with three babysitters, one for each of our triplets. They were in the backyard with the children while my wife was inside the house making dinner.

Our home had a pool, and seeing as how we had three toddlers, we installed a pool fence along its perimeter, as any good parent would do.

At some point that afternoon, the three babysitters lost track of Tyler. They started calling his name and roaming the length of our backyard and the house in search of him.

And then, one of them looked in the pool.

Tyler was standing on his toes in the shallow end of the pool with just his face above the surface of the water, struggling for every breath — afraid that with another step, he would be completely submerged.

One of the babysitters frantically opened the fence and jumped in, saving Tyler’s life.

Apparently, Tyler managed to scale a five-foot retaining wall, which allowed him to climb over the perimeter pool fence and into the pool area. But for the grace of god, he might have decided to go into the deep end of the pool.

Perhaps not to that degree, but since that incident, scarcely a day goes by that I’m not reminded that despite my best intentions, I don’t have all the answers. I asked my mom about this, and sure enough, she said that both her and my dad felt the same way and just did the best they could, because it was their job to keep us safe.

I suppose I can take solace in the fact that despite our insecurities and failings, we’ve managed to raise a terrific kid.

A few days ago, with my wife out of town on business, I took Tyler to a party and he got to meet a lot of new people. He shared things about his life — about how he will be trying out for the water polo team, about how he is a triplet and that his brother and sister are autistic, but are healthy and happy.

One of the guests said, "Well Tyler, you should know how lucky you are to have the parents that you do."

Without skipping a beat, Tyler said, "I know. I’m really, really lucky."

I guess I was wrong. Apparently, I still have some milestones to celebrate.