It was a big week. The last baby finally got his license. Big, exciting world opening up for him. Big, frightening world opening up for his parents.
I was nervous about parallel parking only because Molly hit a cone her first time out and Will had not exactly been practicing up. He had assured us, “I got this.” While his self-confidence is a good thing, it can be bad when, in this mom’s assessment, it can border sometimes on a little too much.
Unlike his sisters, he was comfortable with driving right from the start. I chalked it up to all those years driving golf carts, the go-karts at Great Adventure, and even the battery-operated Fisher Price sedan he drove as a toddler. Yes, he had been driving for years even before the state of New Jersey recognized it.
He came home victorious from the DMV. I called the insurance company to add him to the policy, and he was off on his first solo road adventure — a drive straight to school. There is a range of emotions that hits you when you see your baby boy backing down the driveway. It’s similar to what you feel when he climbs aboard the school bus for the first time, turns around to wave, and then bravely steps into his first day of kindergarten and into his future.
Do other parents give their kids the same warnings I do? “Watch out for dad’s car; don’t sideswipe it.” “Watch out for cops and watch out for deer. Watch out for ice, too. “Yeah, yeah,” he affirms, but I get the feeling that he is swatting my words as I may swat at a gnat.
I’m only telling you these things because of my own experience, I tell him. So listen to what I say, and don’t do as I do.
The sideswipe thing? Yeah, been there, done that. The first time as a teenager backing out of my parents’ garage. It was early morning, I was groggy, and I hit the side of the garage wall backing out.
The second time was much more recent, I’m embarrassed to admit. Once again, it was early morning and I was groggy. (Do you notice a theme here?) It was also dark and foggy. And so, as I merrily backed out of my driveway, I sideswiped my own minivan with the new Honda SUV. Ugh. The sound of crunching metal at 5 in the morning is one of the most unpleasant sounds in the world. So is the sound of the Honda serviceman asking for $1,300 for the fix. My poor minivan had a significant ding, but Bill was able to pound it out. I refused to spend any more money on my unforced error.
As for watching out for deer: I hit one for the first time in my life this week. My stomach turns thinking about it. I was driving along a 45-mile-an-hour road and ironically, had just passed one of those leaping deer signs. I’m grateful that I was actually going under the speed limit and my attention was fully on the road. So when the doe leaped out in front of me, I was able to brake. Still, I hit it square on. They say things slow down at times like these and it’s true: I remember a blur of brown and white and the red pieces of the Volkswagen Jetta’s grill and front bumper flying up toward the windshield.
I was lucky. Though the front of the car is none too pretty, the damage was only cosmetic and the car runs just fine. The air bags did not deploy. There were no other cars around me at the time. The deer was not so lucky. It’s awful knowing that you have killed a living thing. The only animal murder I had committed to this point in life was laying out poison for mice. My stomach turns again. Poor deer. I am so sorry.
My admonishment about cops also stems from personal experience. One time my car broke down on the highway in California, and the sight of the CHP’s flashing lights was never more welcome. Aside from that time, other police encounters I’ve had on the road have never been good. For example, I’ve been stopped in town several times; once for a burned out tail light that turned into a drunk driving check (I don’t drink, so the only intoxicating smell was the fried chicken I had just picked up); another time because our new car’s windows were illegally tinted (that’s the way the dealer sold it to us saying it was just fine); another time for making that illegal left turn from Plainsboro Road to Maple (fine most times of the day except for commute hours — hey, we were new in town!)
Adding Will to our policy will set us back another $1,600 a year. That’s the cost of a 17-year-old boy. Just for kicks, I checked what we’re paying for the girls: $300 for Molly (even though she’s abroad, this covers her when she’s home for summers and breaks) and $100 for Katie (though she now lives in California, this covers her when she’s home and drives our cars around town). If Will has a clean record for three years, we get a small downward adjustment, small being the operative word.
Having a newly licensed teen boy driver is bittersweet. Yes, there is new freedom from the endless chauffeuring, but there are also new bonds of worry. As with most things in life, it is a balancing act, one that we hope to carry out with grace and minimal gray hair and wrinkles.
