Rules of the road
TeenGuy wants to get his driver's license. To do this, he has to learn to drive. Also, he needs to know the rules of the road. I've brought home the Oklahoma driving manual twice during the summer. It sits on the buffet table, looking sad and unused. My son seems to think that getting behind the wheel of the car a couple times a week, hugging the curb, and coming to a full stop at the stop sign is enough knowledge to pass a driving test. Think again, mister. When I imagine him hitting an ice patch during the first winter storm, I shudder.
I've been taking him out when I can, and the last time, SO went with us. He told me I'm too hard on the kid -- honestly, I didn't mean to be. I sort of screamed when he veered into the left lane while making a turn. I was only playing, but my kind of teasing is probably more appropriate for my peers.
I remember learning to drive. It was terrifying. My dad was really critical with my hesitant technique and I was scared to death being in control of a 2-ton solid steel station wagon. But I persevered. I prepared.
I passed the written test with ease, but during the driving part, the state trooper in the car with me nearly jumped out of his seat when I veered to close to a parked car along a narrow neighborhood street.
"Watch the side mirrors! Watch the side mirrors!" I think he broke into a sweat. And then he failed me. The next time, I did much better and left the building with a license to drive. Ahhh, teenage milestones.
Another diary entry:
Jan. 8, 1975. Boy, are my parents mean. They would not go to the library for fear we would be late for church! Dum, right?
Even then, I was a library junkie.
That same day, a year later:
I played with Bruce & Jason [neighborhood boys who lived down the block from us]: "Slaves." Then we played "Bigfoot" and "Time Travel." Then I watched "Nashville remembers Elvis on his birthday." Today was Elvis' birthday. He would be 43. The first birthday without him. It was sad.
I wish I could remember what the game of "Slaves" was like. I'm sure it wasn't politically correct.
2 comments:
I was pretty much the opposite of you. I can barely remember life before I learned to drive. I started pestering my dad to let me start the car when I was about 8 or 9, then it was backing out of the garage and pulling back in. By the time I was 12 my dad was taking me to the huge fairgrounds on Sunday mornings and letting me drive around, pretending the parking space lines were the lanes of a road. By 14 I was taking the car up to 7-11 and taking my friends on their paper routes. Guess what - when I went for my driving test, I failed it the first two times. The first time the trooper said, I seemed too nonchalant about driving, like I didn't take it seriously! The second time the hardcore trooper said, "Son, you seem to be in a hurry everywhere you go. I ain't gonna let you have your license this time."
Last time I saw you I later thought how amazing the issue of driving didn't come up in the conversation. Must of been because of the adorable baby in the room. :-)
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