Around Every Corner

My second daughter now drives on her own.  She uses my big Chevy truck.  Often and with great enthusiasm.  In exchange, my errands -- including filling that tank with gas -- are now often performed by someone other than myself.  That aspect of this new parental adventure is outstanding!  Oh, the countless trips to Super Wal-Mart I've NOT had to log since October of last year.  You simply can't imagine the inner sigh, okay, perhaps audible sigh, of relief that moves through me each time I dodge that bullet.

But, having a child out on the road, moving, stopping, and starting in traffic with hundreds of other drivers, many of them not very capable, is also troubling.  My eldest daughter did not go after her driver's license early, waiting as she did until the almost elderly age of 18.  Though we worried, the worry was on a smaller scale.  She had presented us with myriad other concerns early on in her illustrious career as an American teenager.  We managed to scale those mountains, without safety equipment much of the time, and get her through the graduation procession with cap and gown intact.  Seating her behind the wheel as master and commander of the veteran Nissan Pathfinder did not seem nearly as daunting in light of those adventures.

So, it was with a mixed sense of excitement and anxiety that we first put our 16 year-old into the cab of the ol' Silverado and pushed her off into major intersections without training wheels or her mom and pop.  "No texting!  Keep the music down!  Watch for stop signs!  No speeding!  Make SURE the light is green and no one is coming!" ranked high on the list of DO's and DON'TS.  And, she heard it all more than once or twice. 

On that list were a few items written in invisible ink with instructions not to reveal themselves until the proper moment.  Alarmingly, those 'proper moments' invariably came either during or after the fact.  For instance, how was I to know to remind her to "check the bed of the truck for those throw-away beer bottles your grandpa sent home for me to recycle so they won't be there when you go to that bonfire you talked me into letting you attend . . . that way, when the sheriff's deputies respond to a tip that minors brought alcohol to the event, you won't have to explain under duress to everyone there why you are in possession of Bud Light and Dos Perros empties!"  (The mini-keg-bearing kids who threw the evidence into the bushes -- creative choice -- should have been warned by THEIR parents not to be so obvious when breaking the law!)

Or, how about informing her to be on the lookout for the one male driver in a few hundred cars who is not just executing a quick double-take to admire a pretty girl.  "Um, be aware of the man who will follow you to a stoplight and then pass you up to make a right turn off into the distance . . . only to turn up parked directly beside your truck when you emerge from the fast food joint you visited for an employment opportunity.  Don't look into his cab and realize he is masturbating while looking directly at you and then freak out, jump in your truck, call your mom, and head home!  No.  When you see him and recognize that he has stalked you, quickly note his license plate, return to the store in the safety of strangers, and call the police."  (He did not follow her home, and there was a follow-up visit by the police to take it all down.)

I'm gonna make it through this.  I know that.  I worry far less.   I'm a realist, having witnessed more than my fair share of reality in the lives of those for whom I carry much love and affection.  In place of the worry is that matter-of-fact knowledge that even with the best of drivers and the safest of roads and the smartest of kids, sometimes accidents will happen.  And, they have . . . thus far to other people's children.  I read of them in the newspapers or hear of them on the nightly news.  So, my practice is to hug her whenever she is going out and about.  Just in case.  Even if we are not on the best of speaking terms as is sometimes prone to happen in mother-teen dynamics.  If my son, who will be the next and final teen driver in the household, accompanies her, he gets in on the embrace action, too. 

Why, just this afternoon they both journeyed forth to pick up three cheesy pies for Pizza Night, and I corraled them in for the obligatory hugs.  "Just in case!  C'mon over here!  I want to remember the love."  She one-armed me with a "Gee, mom, I can drive!" and was out the door; the boy gave me both arms, a squeeze, and a buss on the cheek.  We laughed as I yelled out, "I'll remember him best . . . he'll get the biggest tombstone!"  Gallows humor to mask that which we cannot control.