A Driving Desire

The earth didn’t tremble and quake. Angels didn’t split the heavens to trumpet the glory. Even without signs and wonders, Logan still managed to turn 13 on the 13th.

It was an event he has been looking forward to with glee. Being a teenager represents a magical time of freedom. He is no longer just a kid. He is one step closer to being independent, and that most glorious goal, being able to drive.

Talk about the earth quaking. Just the thought of him being in control of a vehicle is enough to make me tremble and shake. My fearless son; the one that has never seen anything that is too high, too fast, or too scary wants us to start teaching him how to drive.

If we start now, he will be ready when he is 14 and can get a learner’s permit. Yeah, good try son. And my response to his seemingly logical request? No absolute way.

Was it really that long ago when my dad was teaching my sister and me to drive? It really was. My dad is convinced the reason he got gray hair in his thirties is because he was teaching two teenage girls how to drive.

That’s not entirely accurate. I was a breeze to teach. My sister, on the other hand, was a little more trouble. Dad started her out on a stick shift. That wasn’t a good idea. There’s just too many things to keep up with when one hand has to steer, one hand has to shift, one foot has to do the clutch, and one foot has to do...whatever. Either the gas or the brake, depending on the situation. It’s confusing.

If Dad raised his voice so they wouldn’t get killed from the oncoming traffic, Teresa cried. It didn’t keep the traffic from getting any closer. Dad’s lucky gray hair is all he got out of the experience.

By the time he got around to me, he didn’t even consider putting me in a stick shift. Been there, done that, don’t want to risk getting killed a second time.

I was somewhat easier to teach because I don’t cry as quickly as Teresa does. I don’t get quite as shook up quite as fast. I had the benefit of watching her experiences, so I knew what to do and what not to do.

One of the most important things I learned was that Mom would be banned from my driving lessons. I was 12 years old when my sister was learning to drive. She and Dad were in the front seat. Mom and I were in the back seat.

Mom was praying. Out loud. "Help her, Jesus. Bless her, Jesus. Protect us, Jesus" We needed the prayers, no doubt. But what was going on in the back seat didn’t inspire a lot of confidence in the what was going on in the front seat.

I told Dad that Mom would not be in the car when I started driving. She would make me batty doing that. She could pray, but she had to do it at home. It was just me and Dad, and a few more gray hairs, when I was learning to drive.

The day I turned 16, I was waiting to take my driver’s license test when they opened at 8 a.m. I remember the joy and excitement of that day; the exhilaration of being able to go where I wanted, of not being driven around like a baby anymore.

I understand Logan’s desire. He is growing up, and has the same desire I did to be more independent. Understanding doesn’t make me more comfortable though. I guess every parent struggles with this, but it seems like I was so much older at 13 than he is. He is just a kid. I distinctly remember being practically an adult.

He probably will be a fine driver. He has been practicing for years in go-carts, golf carts, and other assorted things. In the deer woods, both his Dad and my Dad have occasionally let him drive down those dirt roads.

There are 361 days until Logan turns 14. Just in case you need to know, so you can prepare yourself and be on alert. On the 365th day, an extremely happy 14-year old will be on the street, happily practicing for his driver’s license. I will be at home. Praying.