Driver's Ed
Beware, you new and inevitably clueless parents out there who think that the worst thing about enrolling your teen in Driver's Ed is the cost. Ha! What a delusion. Of course it's a helluva lot better than doing the teaching yourself. Think about the additional life insurance premiums, psychotherapy, and vodka that would entail. (To satisfy you lawyers out there, I'll make this caveat: no drinking, calling your insurance agent, or lying in the back seat recounting everything you hate about your mother while lessons are in progress. Happy now?) Anyway, my third time at bat has begun. Erik, now 16, is in driver's ed and I (gulp) must give him the practice time he needs. I thought it'd be easier than it was with his two older sisters because he's always had a knack with vehicles. But, the kid has also mastered Grand Theft Auto, Hot Rod, and other video games that have turned his foot into lead and his mentality into a cross between James Bond and Mario Andretti. One of the most painful routines we must bear for the driving practice sessions is his "SMILE" routine: some mnemonic to help him remember certain things before proceeding in a forward direction like making sure the steering wheel is 15 inches from his abdomen, adjusting the seats, adjusting the mirror (then removing leftover breakfast from his braces while he's at it,) making sure nothing in the backseat can become an in-flight missile, buckling seatbelts, filing a flight plan, getting the latest weather on route, etc. He takes forever! Holy crap, he's not about to launch into outer space in the Space Shuttle! We're just going to the corner store a mile away! Despite my frustration and my desire to get the inevitable over with as quickly and painlessly as possible, I bite my tongue and look out my window so he won't see the pained expression on my face. What we lose in time during the preflight procedure we gain in his quickness on the road. For instance, he doesn't hesitate with his driving decisions. That's bad because my cobweb-ridden brain needs time to make decisions like "is it safe for him to turn onto this street now?" or "will he slow down for the school zone?" or "Does he see those children in the road?" or "Is he really aiming for that mail box?" or "Do I want to live today?" I try to keep my voice as calm as possible and react nonchalantly to his near misses, but the sounds of panic cannot be denied. They must be freed to alert anybody and everybody to impending disaster. So there's always a little high pitched strain in my voice. Kinda like trying to force molasses through a sieve. Sometimes I try to overcompensate by forcing additional calmness in my tone, but it comes off kinda creepy because I wind up sounding like Carrie or Jack Nicholson in "The Shining." Nevertheless, Erik's judgment is usually pretty good. Just the typical new driver things like cutting a turn to close and riding up on the curb (I wear a kidney belt now) and forgetting to look before changing lanes (your turn signal doesn't engage some magic force field or commandeer control of cars racing up alongside you.) He has a hard time juggling lots of information at once. so he can get stuck on making sure he's going the speed limit so much that his eyes are glued to the dashboard, not the road so his speed might abruptly plummet to zero when his car plows into the rear-end of another car. But, unlike the girls, Erik takes instruction and criticism well. Oh, I almost forgot another drawback to having a new driver in the family--the incessant obsession over his eventual car. Guy spends more time on Auto Trader than Algebra 2. (How could that be possible, you ask?) He's made up his mind at least once a week that his definite carved in stone first car will be a Passat, no a Mustang, no, a Jeep Wrangler, no, a Mini-Cooper if it isn't a girlie car, no a...what? I have to get a job? Mom, can I borrow the Suburban?