I know we’ve come a long way and few women die during childbirth. At the same time, the risk of death has gone up significantly with the invention of the car…mostly because we are the ones in the passenger’s seat grabbing onto the handholds with white knuckles as we teach our teenagers to drive.
Why do bring this up, you might ask. My second son, just took his driving test and I must say to our great pleasure and a little astonishment passed and is now a licensed driver on the roads of Arizona.
To be fair, I never came really close to death while teaching my sons to drive. There was that one time when I told my middle son to change lanes…so he did…on a four lane road with cars all around. Never mind the fact that he did not use a blinker or even glance over his shoulder. Luckily, the driving angels that are sent to protect those wild and woolly inexperienced and overconfident drivers of the younger sort were in that road space and not a large formidable truck that would’ve crushed us like a bug. Unlike his brother my firstborn when he was learning couldn’t be bothered with stop signs. I mean, if no one is coming in the other direction, does a stop sign really exist? It’s an age old question answered only by the police behind you with flashing lights.
Us mothers should get a medal at the DMV when our children pass their driver’s test. There could be a small podium set up somewhere between window twelve and thirteen. I’d even sing the victory music quietly to myself so that everyone could still hear their number called. I can see it now, “Ms. Carling, we present you this medal in honor of your patience, and courage in the face of imminent danger.” Think of what it would do for the morale of that soul sucking place we call the DMV.
Am I proud of my boys? I am, especially my second son who although brilliant, has a processing disorder that makes quick decisions very challenging to him. However, I am thrilled that my daughter still has four more years before she can learn to drive. Until then, I wish all you parents luck. May your teenagers not hit anything, moving or stationary and may you still love each other when it’s all over.