Behind the wheel
By Gwendolynne Larson (Contact)
Originally published 01:46 p.m., January 22, 2008
Updated 01:46 p.m., January 22, 2008
“You took that turn a little fast, Mom.”
“Ni-ice California stop.”
Such are the comments from a newly licensed driver, all delivered with the cockiness that only a 14-year-old boy can muster.
Of course, some of it is payback. Turns feel worse from the passenger seat, and there were numerous times during Alex’s supervised driving that I told him to slow down as he went into a turn. I never yelled, however, only spoke urgently. If my voice raised a decibel or two, it was unintentional.
Now, however, he can drive unsupervised to and from school (and to and from work if he had a job). That means he won’t have Mom or Dad sitting beside him giving driving pointers. I suspect he’ll still hear our voices, however. And if he doesn’t, he knows by now that we have spies everywhere.
That’s how we raise our families in small towns. As a teen, I hated the fact that everyone seemed to know everyone’s business. As a parent, I love it.
I’ve already spread the word and description of Alex’s vehicle to various parents we know. These are the same parents we can trust to rebuke our children for public misbehavior if Greg and I don’t happen to be around. And these are the same parents who don’t take offense if we return the favor.
I think I’m doing a fine job calmly taking in stride this newest milestone in my firstborn’s life. Greg, in fact, seems more cautious about what he’ll let Alex do. Of course, that might have something to do with Greg’s teenage adventure at a blind intersection surrounded by snow drifts. “How Greg Totaled the Family Car” is a classic in Larson family lore.
Technology, I think, has made it easier for me to accept Alex’s growing independence. After all, if my parents could calmly let me drive with no more advice than, “Make sure you have a full tank of gas and a dime for a pay phone,” surely I can be calm knowing that Alex has a cell phone. Looking back, I’m amazed how many times I ended up on the side of a highway hiking to a pay phone. (By the way, it was never for lack of gas; it was always mechanical problems.)
On the other hand, I’m carrying on another tradition from my youth — teaching Alex the fine art of calling Mom at every step — when he gets to the bus stop in the morning, when the bus drops him back off and he’s ready to head home and, finally, when he arrives home.
I’m 43 and still check in with parents after a road trip. Some things never change.
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