I went on my last first drive this week. Not to brag, but I think it went pretty well. It’s probably because I’ve been mentally preparing for this milestone since early January, when my youngest child first informed me that I’d be conducting his inaugural driving lesson the moment he turned 14½. According to him, this is when I took all his older siblings driving for their first time and life would be totally unfair if I didn’t take him at the exact same age.
He’s often helpful like this.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m very grateful for these persistent and unsolicited reminders. Not because I enjoy strapping into the passenger seat of my own car and lurching around a parking lot riddled with collision hazards, but because I believe my son’s keen memory and sense of social justice will eventually work in my favor, like if I somehow survive driver’s ed and then get old and have to be relentlessly reminded to take medication to stay alive, for example. Or worse, that I keep forgetting if it’s ever okay to wear socks and sandals in public. Regardless, I like to think the time we’re spending together now is forming the roads that will someday help lead him back to me.
Hopefully he’ll take the bus.
