Take a Thrill Ride with a Teenager Behind the Wheel

Training a teenager to drive is on my “Top Ten List” of worst experiences of my entire life. 

My friend recently told me that her daughter, nearly 15, will be taking Driver’s Education classes this summer.  I laughed... and then my facial tick came back.

“We’ve taken her out a few times already,” my friend reported, “and she does pretty well."

“You’re fooling yourself.” I told her, “Wait till you get her on a highway.”

David, my oldest son, led me to believe he had experience several years ago because he practiced with his father.  “Okay, let’s take a ride,” I said.

Apparently, Dad had forgotten the “Put Your Foot on the Brake When Making a Turn” lesson.  During our first donut my hair turned snow white.  After the last complete revolution I was tensed up so far into the fetal-position I could have fit into a 12” box.

“STOP!!!!!” I screamed, white hair flying.

The gravel and dust cloud he created has finally subsided somewhere over the Ukraine.

Backing up in a teenager-driven car is another fun memory.  My over 6-feet-tall son didn’t realize the mirrors were adjustable.  He blindly backed out of a Wal-Mart parking spot and we first heard breaks squeal, then saw a man with a walker “fast-walk” behind a truck, presumably to hide, losing both of his tennis balls in the process.

“Sorry!”  He called out the window and once again threw it in reverse without checking his mirrors.  Horns blared and a few middle-finger salutes later, we left the lot in shame.

Certified driving instructors have a few advantages.  For one thing, they have a car that is equipped with a second brake pedal.  They also have a STUDENT DRIVER marker on the roof, which repels most sensible drivers.  I also suspect they are heavily medicated.  We parents don’t have those luxuries.  Riding with David was like being on a wild amusement park ride, feeling sick and wanting to get off, but instead hearing the carnival worker running the controls yell, “You wanna go FASTER?” 

When our second son, Jon, was old enough to drive, we paid a large sum of money to have a private school teach him, because, included in their fee, a driving instructor would take him on the road for his full 30 hours of practice-- instead of us.

I would have prostituted myself to get the money to pay for this privilege.