Driving Lessons: the Great Equalizer

We have a new driver in the house.   My son Matt is now the proud owner of a shiny new Pennsylvania driver's license.

He was certainly well-prepared.  After sixty-five hours of driving with a parent, thirty hours of classroom instruction, and six hours of behind-the-wheel training with a certified driving instructor, all of us were more than ready for Matt to be able to drive on his own.

I wish I could say that I had a part in this milestone, but I did not.  Having barely recovered from the tendency to grab the nearest solid object while teaching my son Ryan to drive, I knew better than to offer to teach Matt myself.  Besides, I birthed these boys; it's only fair that their father participate in something equally painful.

If you think about it, teaching a teenager to drive is kind of like childbirth: both are long, difficult, and potentially fatal.  The big difference is that when driving with a teenager, you can't just say, "Hey...I'd like that epidural now...with a side of Demerol while you're at it."  No, teen driver pain must be experienced while fully conscious if you hope to survive the driving lesson.

Getting my husband Dan on board with this idea required some planning, so I simply inserted, "Shouldn't you be out driving with Matt?" into every conversation:  "Hey, we need some milk.  Shouldn't you be out driving with Matt?"  "Happy birthday!  Shouldn't you be out driving with Matt?"

Over time, the brainwashing - I mean, gentle persuasion - worked, and the weekend ritual of Dan and Matt's marathon driving sessions began. 

Even though I did trick Dan into teaching Matt, he was a much better driving instructor than I could ever be.  He was patient and kind and never once screamed out loud, "You're going to kill us all!"  In retrospect, that phrase probably isn't particularly helpful when used with a young driver, but sometimes it's hard to hold in what you're really thinking.

While teaching Ryan to drive, Dan would often ask me how he was progressing.  My updates were typically something like this:

            "That kid drives way too fast.  He's going to kill himself and everyone on the road."

            "I think he needs his eyes examined; he has a hard time seeing stop signs."

            "Is there such a thing as nail remover?  Because I just left four fingernails in the armrest of the car."

            "I can't talk right now.  Just get me a margarita and maybe I can recover."

Dan was always much more positive about Matt's driving skills. Ever the optimist , he'd say, "My one leg is a bit pumped up from reaching for the brake, but all in all, he did really well."  That's kind of like saying, "Matt doesn't run over nearly as many people as he used to."

Now, after all of those months of Dan's patient instruction and guidance, Matt has officially become a licensed driver.  He can finally enjoy the privileges that come with operating a motor vehicle:  getting himself where he needs to be, and then picking up milk on the way home so I don't have to.

I hope that, like childbirth, Dan forgets the pain of teaching Matt.  I'm counting on him to be ready when it's time to teach Evan in three more years.