Surviving Ms. Crazy

Teaching your kid how to drive can drive you around the bend

By Deborah Kimmett

As my kid was slamming the car door yelling, “Mom I hate you,” I realized teaching your kids to drive is a lot like natural childbirth. It sounds like a good idea, but right after the first contraction, it’s damn the torpedoes and every man for himself. (Give me medication now!)

I wanted the driving lesson to turn out differently. Perhaps my clutching the dashboard, saying the rosary didn’t instill confidence.
In my day, it was different. We wrote a test, got our license in the afternoon, and drove on the big highway that night.

Today, they have this G1 and G2 and Gee Mom stop yelling, I need to go the speed limit.

The rules have changed. We had to learn to park on a hill. (Was it wheels turned in on the down slope or was that out while parked uphill? I still don’t get that right.) But today there are no hills. There’s only mall parking. They have to do perpendicular parking and be able to back in between the two white lines. I was out there flagging her in, thinking ‘you’re never going to do this once you pass your test.’ (By the way, a big apology to a green van at Centre Square mall.)

After a few crying incidents—her crying, me crying, me driving along side of her, crying out ‘Get in the damn car you can’t walk all the way home’ after a particularly volatile disagreement on technique—I decided to hire a driving instructor—an insured-driving teacher.

After a few crying incidents—her crying, me crying, me driving along side of her, crying out ‘Get in the damn car you can’t walk all the way home’ after a particularly volatile disagreement on technique—I decided to hire a driving instructor—an insured-driving teacher. Why risk your life when for a few hundred dollars, someone else will do it for you? They have massive amounts of training in NOT freaking out—while I’ve had massive amount of training IN freaking out.

Eventually she got her license, and it was bye-bye car. And I was left feeling like I was stuck in Harry Chapin’s song, Cat’s in the Cradle.

Article originally published in Volume 12-3 of Your Workplace magazine

Posted Wednesday, September 1, 2010