Our teenage daughter wants to get her driver’s license. Expect. She’s not old enough. Wow, last year I was coaching her sixth grade basketball team. But then my wife reminds me that it was four years ago when I was her coach and now she’s a sophomore in high school. In fact, she will be 16 in less than six months.
WELL. Penalty fee. Maybe she can convince her to wait until she is 18 to get her temporary license and maybe after she graduates from college she can get her permanent license. It seems like a perfect plan until one day she walks in the door with my wife, beaming with excitement holding something in the air. I’m assuming it’s her last report card.
“Dad! Dad! Look at this,” she says. “I have my time. I’m going to drive.” I smile at her because I don’t want to take away any of her exuberance. “That’s great, honey,” I tell her, walking into another room trying to collect myself. Everything will be fine. Heck, she’ll be practicing for a few months and will probably only drive very short distances for a while. In fact, you might just forget about it all!
From the other room, I hear her say to my wife, “I can’t wait to drive to California this summer. It will be great to be able to drive across the country.” Now it was time to take my blood pressure medication. Oh, it’s true. I do not take blood pressure medication. Well this might be a good time to start.
A few weeks later, one Saturday afternoon while watching one of the University of Miami’s rare television appearances, my daughter, after driving all week with my wife, asks if I can take her to a friend’s house. Sure. It’s only a mile down the road and I’ll only miss a few minutes of the game.
Moments later, as I’m walking to the car, I notice something out of place. My daughter is sitting in the driver’s seat, not the passenger side. WELL. I’m sure there is an explanation. Maybe she just wants the feel of holding the wheel. Surely, she’s not going to drive. It’s her?
“Come in daddy,” she says. “I’m driving. Just relax and enjoy the ride.” WELL. I’ll relax. No. I won’t. We’re actually moving. We go down the driveway and within minutes we are on a road with other cars. Before you have time to panic, we’re going about 11 mph in a 35 mph zone. I tell him we can speed it up a bit. And we do it. All the way at 12 miles per hour. I want him to drive slowly, but I also want to get home before football season is over.
So the driving is going great and even though I can’t fathom the idea of my little girl driving… I know I can’t fight fate. But I can still keep some control. It is my car and I will drive it most of the time.
Or so I thought, until my daughter asked where the key to “her car” was. What what? I reminded him that I was the one paying for the car, insurance, gas, and repairs. Somehow that got lost in translation because she gave me a hug and said, “That’s nice of you, Dad. I thought I’d at least have to pay for gas.”
He passed his driving test with flying colors and now has his license. I’m fine with that. In fact, she is a very good driver. She keeps her eyes on the road and stays below the speed limit. I feel very comfortable with her taking me to different places.
In fact, right now, I’m lounging on the couch, watching one of my favorite Seinfeld reruns. This episode, I’ve seen it only 12 times. I’m curious where our daughter is, though, because my… ugh, I mean, her car isn’t in the driveway.
I ask my wife where our daughter went. “Oh honey,” she says. “She said something about driving to LA. She’ll be back before you know it.”
“THE?” I say. “That’s it. I didn’t think she was serious about driving to California. I’m going out for a walk for a few days. And please, she gets my blood pressure pills. I really need them.”
“Calm down,” says my wife. “LA” is just a store in the mall. And she remembers…you don’t take any medicine.”
“Oh yeah?” I say. “Maybe this would be a good time to start. I think I’ll drive to the doctor’s office right now and see if I can get a prescription.”
“No, you won’t,” says my wife. “Remember…you don’t have a car anymore.”