Real Life Horror Stories: Teaching Teens to Drive

So, we're all sitting in the family room reviewing the calendar for the upcoming week. Jacob reminds us for the umpteenth time that next month he will be THIRTEEN.  Honestly, you would think this held all the earth-shaking importance of the Second Coming.  He reviews, yet again, the list of desired gifts and celebrations.  At this rate, he's going to be lucky if he gets to sit in a dark closet for a day with bread and water.  Sheesh.

Alex pipes in: "Well my birthday comes before that.  And I'll be 15.  And I can get my learner's permit."

An odd crushing pressure fills my chest, my vision blurs, my ears start ringing.  What are the signs of a heart attack?  Does my left arm hurt? Is that part of it?  Do we have any aspirin in the house?  Aren't you supposed to take an aspirin if you're having a heart attack?  Or is that an aneurysm?  Do I know the signs for that?  Or is this post-traumatic stress?  Because . . .

I have done this twice before.  Teaching teens to drive, that is.  (Shudder)

Lauren wasn't so bad.  She's the oldest, a girl, and not prone to insanity.  Plus, I NEEDED ANOTHER DRIVER.  Life had reached the point where I seriously needed to sell the house and just by an RV because I lived in the car anyway.  Between sport practices/games, church youth group, doctor/orthodontist appointments, and the grocery store, my mileage each day was reaching a critical point.  The girl HAD to get her license.  And she did, taking a, er, practice run or two at the testing portion of it  :D

William was a surprise.  This is the child who had chipped both front teeth (standing on the (wet) edge of the bathtub), cut off the end of his finger (standing on the back of his stroller--we got it stitched back on), and lost his high chair privileges all before the age of 1 (standing on the tray and jumping.  YES, he started buckled in.)  He began walking at 8 1/2 months and began running at 8 5/8 months.  He never crawled like a normal baby.  He bear-style crawled on hand and toes, legs out straight.

So it was a bit of a gift when he broke his wrist (snowboarding halfpipe) at 15 and we had to put off learning to drive for awhile.  Then that healed and we signed him up for driving lessons.  Which was great, because I didn't have to do it.  He worked his way through the class, but practicing at home was less consistent because he had a big sister who could drive.  Oh darn.  I just keep forgetting to have Will drive.  Hmm.

Age 16 approached.  He had nearly all his required practice time in, and then he broke his leg (football).  Well, it's simply illegal to drive with a broken leg and crutches.  More time passed.  Finally, the leg healed and Big Sister was getting ready to graduate.  He had to get this done.  We drove over to the church to practice parallel parking.

Holy Cheezits Batman.  My grandma drives faster than this.  My perpetual-death-wish-stuntman teen boy drives like an octogenarian with cataracts.  There is a MINIMUM speed limit on most roads and I'm pretty sure we are nowhere near it.  Whole new kind of problem.  Since we do not live in Bedrock and do not have a Fred Flintstone car, he was simply going to have to step on the gas pedal.  It won't break.  I promise.

He got his license not too long before turning 17.  And, unfortunately, he did find the gas pedal.  Yes he did.  They a have a very close, personal relationship now.  Reasons for insurances rates for males age 16-25 are not a scam.  They are real.  My no-common-sense son was back.

And then there was Alex.  When you have two children, it's easy to think that the gene pool created by you and your spouse has two halves.  It was easy to think this with my first two because they are so different: girl v. boy; shy v. outgoing; quiet v. LOUD, etc.  It's not until you have a third that you realize you have been thinking in a 3 dimensional way about an 11 (or possibly 12 (credit to Terry Pratchett -- bonus points if you can name the book)) dimensional world.  It's like thinking your choices are red or blue and then someone asks for green.

Alex was not shy but not loud.  He was definitely a boy, but didn't look anything like William.  He didn't throw tantrums and he spoke clearly, perfectly, and very early.  NONE of my other children have done this.  They either don't say much or they talk non-stop in Chinese-swahili in an Iraqi dialect.  That little chart that says "Children at 12 months often have 3-5 words" (or whatever it says)? Alex actually DID and he was starting to use sentences!  It was bizarre.  A kid I could actually communicate with!

He was good at expressing himself right from the start.  And one day, as we pulled into a parking stall at the store, Alex announced that it was his turn to drive.  He was not yet three.

Me: "Sorry, Alex you can't drive."
Alex: "Why?"
Me: "Because you're not old enough."
Alex: "So?"
Me: "You have to be 16."
Alex thought for a moment.  "Ok, I'm 16 now. Gimme the keys."

Someone has been waiting for a looooooong time to drive. 

I'm scared.