I grasp that I am not the only parent who has experienced the pure heart pounding terror of a teenager getting their drivers licence...I get that anyone who has a drivers licence, probably subjected their parents to hyperventilating moments that needed medical intervention......I understand it's all part of the job, but good gawd all mighty, I'm not sure how much more my heart, knuckles and car can take.
I felt in my gut the day my 16 year old daughter finished driving school would be about as much fun as the one day a year I go to the gynecologist. I was right, except now I get that feeling everyday. I had read the paper work, I knew my part in this whole terrifying deal. "Once your child has passed driving school, they must drive accompanied by an licenced adult for 6 MONTHS before applying for their drivers licence." Oh parental joy...
The first lip quivering pause was vehicle. I own two, a necessity for my lifestyle. One for the mountains, a big tough Dodge truck and the other, a sweet smart little BMW for the city.
I suggested the truck, figuring if we rammed into anything, a tree, a fence, parked cars, moving train, we would have a decent shot at living. But her mouth dropped open and she said, "That big thing, are you kidding? Mom, there's just no way, I'm used to a Subaru from class."
Which brought her eye's and mine (open huge and buggin) to the BMW. Double gulp. Shelby tentatively says, "Wow Mom, do you think I can handle the BMW?" Handle? The only words that came to my mind was smashed, scratched, dented, totaled with a capital T. There's a reason I drive a BMW, it isn't for name, or status, I could care less about such empty illusions. I drive one because they are fast, barely touch the gas peddle zippy fast, turn with the slightest touch, and ride like they are on air. The sort of things a 16 year old need not appreciate.
I make too much noise. That's right, turns out I'm the horror, according to my daughter, to drive with. I gasp audibly with terror etched throughout my face. I grab the dashboard to often, white knuckle style. I suck in air like a fish gasping and dying on the floor boards. I yelp and I whisper cuss words to often. Oh, and I give suggestions, criticism and directions far to much for her sensitive soul.
All that according to the kid I've made cry on more then one driving occasion.
I don't consider myself the sort of Mom who takes great joy in making the kid cry. And I even tried to explain, justify myself and my actions to her.
Shelby, I gasped because you were hugging the right side of the road so bad that poor biker had to jump the curb to avoid being laid out flat under the wheels.
Darling, I grabbed the dashboard because you 'paused' ...your word, not mine....at the stop sign, and let us not forget stop sign means well...stop the damn car.... and you practically took out that mans utility trailer. By the way, if my hands weren't indented in the dashboard I would have flipped him off, for flipping you off.
Sweetheart, I sucked in air because despite your 'comfortable' speed, when you get on the freeway you must maintain a speed that flows with everyone else. Just because 45 mph feels better for you at that moment, that doesn't mean the Semi-truck coming up the ass-end of the car understands.
Daughter, I yelped and cussed under my breath because first you hit the gas too hard which shot us mock 5 around the corner, at which point in time you froze your turn in the steering wheel, shooting the low clearance BMW along side, into, and onto the sidewalk. At which point in time a show of emitting sparks, and the noise of scratching the entire side of the car will haunt me forever.
And none of us will forget scaring the shit out of 4 people who went flying for cover (now I know how people get run over innocently walking down a sidewalk) ...........and the worst thing about that disaster was your darling back seat driver sister blamed me. I had just answered my cell phone 2 seconds prior to this horror and was mid process of telling the caller I would need to call them back and guess what, that caller got to hear the very reason WHY. Every screech, scrap, scream, swear word....the whole enchilada. Answering my phone for that brief second was not the problem sweet Kaitlyn.
***By the way, I drove home from this experience with both daughters sobbing in the back seat. I think daughter number #2 thought I might murder and bury her sister in the mountains somewhere***
So my fault ehh.....if that's the story you two are sticking to, well then I'm telling my side, not to mention writing the check for the damage.
Honestly, I just want to live, or call a taxi, or hire someone who can contain their 'oh shits' and 'oh gawd we're gonna die's'.... I am not enjoying this entire experience, at all. The interesting thing is, when I got my drivers licence, I came home a spry 15 year old with my licence photo barely dry and my dad gave me a key to the car.
I was off and driving, just like that. Alone (well ok, I'd zoom down the street and pick up 2, or 3 or 4 friends)
There was none of this drive with parents for 6 months agony. I was a pro from day one, surely I was, right? My parents were the lucky ones, they trusted blindly, spared themselves the heart attacks and I suppose just prayed I'd make it home alive each time.
The good old days, when parents weren't legally bound to torture their children as much with suggestions, directions, ohhs and ahhs~~