Surviving the Driver's Permit

Girls and boys are different. I am blessed with one of each of these species and I will be the first one to say that my kids could’ve come from different planets. One is dark, one red. One likes to read, the other, analytical. One meek, one argumentative, one sensitive to others, one sensitive to itself.
No matter what they do, they handle it in with their own personal style. When they were small it was interesting to watch how they played with the same toys. My daughter dressed Barbie up in different outfits where my son would take Barbie’s clothes off and catapult her from his Tonka truck. Two kids, very different.
Nothing changes as they come of driving age. My son has been ready to drive since he was big enough to see out the car window. He randomly would ask questions about what the yellow lines mean or what the signs say. I drive a stick shift and that process fascinated him. He always has been a busy observer of driving. He has turned out to be an excellent driver.
My daughter only asked, “Are we there yet?”
I didn’t think much about that until now. On the trek to the DMV to get her Driver’s Permit, I randomly asked her if she knew what a YIELD sign meant. When she couldn’t give me an answer, I knew this species didn’t necessarily want to drive but just wanted to GO places. Big difference. Finally the DMV gave her legal rights to be on road with oncoming traffic.
Driving a stick shift isn’t really difficult. It just takes practice and coordination. It’s like a dance you do with the car and the road.
The only dancing my daughter wants to do is at a prom with a $40 manicure and a cute guy by her side. But we don’t have any “easy” cars to drive so this is it.
On the first day out, I brought her to an empty parking lot so she could get a feel for the clutch. She was feeling it. I gripped the sides of my seat and wondered what part of my car was crying out each time we bucked and stalled and oh yes, seared off some good rubber.
The next day, we started from home. Living a mile from the bus stop and I thought that it would be great practice to have her drive down there each morning. While she was still making last minute adjustments to hair and hygiene, I pulled the car up in front of our house, in our gravel driveway.
When she got in the driver’s seat, I could see she was nervous but we only had 5 minutes to get to the bus and there was no time for breathing exercises. There was time to whisper a prayer.
Apparently feeling safer sitting close to the steering wheel, she pulled the seat forward. I thought too close but I didn’t say anything. It was too early to pick a fight with the argumentative species. I realized maybe I should’ve when I heard the engine racing like the start of the Indy 500.
“Mom, it won’t go!” She complained.
Before I could explain to her the problem, her left foot came flying off the clutch putting her knee practically to her chest. I heard stones clacking under the car and spewing behind us. Like the Dukes of Hazard trying to escape Boss Hogg, she ripped a hole shot toward the road. Once on the road, she had to shift into second gear. It was happening so fast. I wanted to close my eyes but I knew that meant replacing the neighbor’s new roadside flower boxes. To shift gears, she took her right hand off the wheel and with it went her eyes. When her eyes left the road, something triggered her brain to accelerate and I thought we were going to die. Thankful I forgot to buckle up, I jumped off my seat and grabbed the wheel while yelling “BRAKE!!” We made it around that corner, no doubt by the grace of God that I asked for earlier. At the bus stop, we sat in silence, both of us shaken from the previous mile.
Our hearts still audibly pounding, I could see the bus coming in the distance. I have never seen her so happy to get out of the warmth of the car and onto the school bus.