I thought learning to drive with your parent in the car was excruciating enough when I was the teenager. I had no idea how much worse it could be as the parent. It started even before my teen took the driver’s seat.
“Mom, watch out for the light, it’s already yellow!”
“Yes, thank you, I can see that.”
“Mom, it’s a village speed zone here – you can’t go more than 30 miles per hour.”
“You can’t possibly see the speedometer from over there.”
“Mom, you’re supposed to make your right turn into the nearest lane, and move to the left lane later.”
“Yes, but I know there’s a corner coming soon where traffic always backs up in the right hand lane.”
This is why I had so many fights with your grandfather, I wanted to say. He criticized my driving too, as mercilessly as you’re doing now, and in some ways our relationship never really recovered. But I am supposed to be the role model here, so instead I just grit my teeth and get on with it. “I’m glad you read that part of the Driving Manual,” I finally respond.
“Mom, you don’t have the right-of-way here.”
“Yes, I became aware of that.” Just in time to avoid a fender-bender in fact — but I decide to keep that last bit to myself.
“Mom, you’re not supposed to pass people on the right.”
Yes, I want to respond. But I am hoping that if I get close enough to the wall here, I can scrape off your side of the car….
It’s not enough that this young whippersnapper has corrected me for years about arithmetic problems and American history, now he’s correcting my driving too. I don’t remember a chapter on this in “What to Expect When You’re Expecting.” How am I ever going to survive? And how am I going to refrain from strangling him long enough for him to get a driver’s license, let alone a diploma?
“Keep your hands on the wheel,” I tell myself.
“Mom, your hands are supposed to be at the nine and three positions nowadays, for the air bag to deploy properly. It’s not like in the olden days when you were a kid.”
What is especially unforgivable about it all is that he is always right. Of course he’s right! He is the one currently taking the driver’s education course. I’m the one who took driver’s ed in another state, and in another century.
How did I ever get through this with his older brother? Oh, now I recall – his brother never drove anywhere, if he could help it, depending on a vast network of friends to transport him around the countryside. At first I was glad I didn’t have to worry about his driving after parties… until I realized I had to worry, instead, about the driving of every one of his friends, including ones I had never met.
This child, however, is itching to take the wheel. The first opportunity that presented itself, he signed up for driver’s ed and started us on the process of navigating the DMV. Now we have become our own little episode of “Survivor: Learner’s Permit,” with just the two of us alone in a car. I thought I could slow him down by requiring him to actually read the manual first, but it hasn’t quite worked out that way.
“You know, you have to stop before the white line at a stop sign.”
“Thank you for the information, but there’s a hedge in the way, and it’s impossible to see anything from there.”
“Then stop again where you can see.”
“Thank you for your input.”
“And you have to stop for a count of three or it’s considered rolling through the stop, which is punishable by three points off your license…”
“Do you remember how we used to talk about distracted driving? Well, we’re not going anywhere unless you get a grip on yourself and stop distracting me! Do you think you can do that, Mom? Mom? Mom, why are you crying?”
I couldn’t help it. My little baby is growing up.
Judy Epstein invites you to tell her your own stories of surviving Driver Ed, as either the Driver or the Ed. You may reach her anytime at judyepsteinwriter.com .
