When you’re growing up your kids, you look forward to the milestones they achieve as a sign of their development. You wait eagerly for that first smile, to feed them their first solids, to see their first steps. Then you wait to hear their first words, and see that first poop in the toilet. Then its the first playdate, the first drop off birthday party, the first day of Grade 1.
And so it goes.
And then, finally, you’re looking forward to the first driving lesson, which for any parent of teenagers, means the first day of the rest of their lives (not as taxi drivers).
We were the same. All last year, we waited with anticipation for The Diva to turn 16. The day after her 15th birthday, I bought her the little book to start studying for her written test. (Actually, I bought her the practice tests book and had to go back and buy the real book). All we talked about was ‘Next year, you can drive yourself..’ and ‘Its gonna be great when you can pick your brother up for us..’
One of the first Tweets I made on Twitter that got retweeted was:
“You never learn to swear until you teach your teenager to drive”.
And let me tell you, no phrase was ever tru-er.
The first time I let The Diva drive went like this. (And by the way, we were in a quiet suburban neighborhood, with next to no other cars on the road)
“Ok, so look to your left mirror, look in your rearview mirror, and pull out to the left.”
“Which is the gas? How do I turn the wheel?”
Me, patiently, “Just like I told you, the gas is on the right, the brake is on the left. Just press lightly on the gas, and start turning the wheel the way you want to go.”
“Oook….” The car jumps and jerks, but starts moving. And is dangerously close to a car parked on the side of the road.
“Be careful of that car. Just turn the wheel slightly so you don’t take his window off.” I work hard to keep my voice moderate. She turns the wheel and is temporarily on the wrong side of the road, but quickly corrects the car’s position.
“Just start slowing at that tree there by pressing the brake lightly. Then, when you’re at the stop sign, you’ll be stopped.”
The car jerks to a violent stop at the stop sign. I envision my visits to the chiropractor, and calculate the cost of the heating pads and days lost from work. ”Next time, you don’t need to jam on the brake. Just touch it lightly, and the car will stop. Now touch the gas, and let’s get going again.”
The car starts moving, smoothly, this time. We both smile, and my heart stops racing. I see another Stop sign ahead. ”Now, remember, start slowing at that tree there, and then come to a complete stop without jerking. As we approach said tree, the cars slows down. And, as we PASS the Stop sign, rolls smoothly through the intersection.
“You have to STOP at stop signs,” I try not to yell.
“I DID!!” She does yell.
“You did NOT stop at that stop sign. You rolled right through. Slowly isn’t stopping. We don’t live in MONTREAL. You have to STOP. They will give me a TICKET. You could have crashed my car. My insurance just went back down from when I hit that garbage truck.”
“Chill Mom, nothing happened. I’ll stop better next time. Look how AWESOME I’m driving.”
I smile. “Oh yes, honey. Just great.” I try to be a very supportive mother at all times. ”Keep your eyes on the road, ok. Don’t look at me when you talk to me.”
“OMG there’s a car coming. What do I do?”
“Dear, that car’s on the other side of the road. Just keep doing what you’re doing. And you can speed up a little. The speed limit is 40 km/hr not 20 km/hr.”
Another Stop sign ahead. ”Ok, at that Stop sign, after you actually stop, you’re going to turn left. So put your flicker on.”
“I’m not turning left.” Her hands tighten on the wheel.
“Yes, you have to. It’s a dead end. You’ll just slow down a bit, turn the wheel to the left, and straighten it out, like this,” I demonstrate with my hands holding my bottle of Valium like a steering wheel. “Then, when you’re straight again, you bring your speed back up, and keep going.”
“NO. I am not turning left.”
“Yes, you are.”
“NO! No left turns. I don’t turn left. Its scary.” She is sweating at this point, and her hands are gripping the wheel so hard, her knuckles are red.
“Listen, you’re going to have to turn left. It’s not optional. So, just do it. RIGHT NOW.” And finally, my voice is raised.
“Don’t yell at me.” She looks like she’s going to cry. “I’m turning…. ”
“See, that wasn’t so bad, was it?” And then, I said, as we switched seats so I could get us home, “Maybe we should wait until you have a driving lesson or two before we practice again.”
“But…why? I was AMAZING!”