My son John went to get his license a few days ago. Any parent knows there is only one thing good about your kid driving. YOU don't have to pick him up as much. Everything else is a negative. You are worried about his safety, you are wondering where he is, you are worried about his safety, you hope he doesn't crack up the car and run up the insurance bill, which in my case with two college- age daughters and now a 16 year old boy, is approaching Bolivia's national debt. And you worry about his safety.
With my two daughters we let the dates where they could drive slip a little by getting them their learners permits late. No such scam with John. He knew to the minute when he was eligible to drive, and let us know too.
Off John and I went to the DMV on Friday afternoon. There is nothing better than finishing up a long week of getting up at 4:30 am every day with a visit to the good 'ol DMV. The plastic chairs, the sullen folks without the right papers, the picture of the Governor on the wall, I dreaded it. But luck was with me! A listener called to tell me if I went to a smaller office outside of town it would be better. We did and it was!
A wonderful man with a great sense of humor was John's DMV Test Officer.
"Son, does it look like fun when your mom and dad drive?" He inquired.
"No " replied John.
"Then why in the world would you want to drive?" he asked with a smile.
"So I can free myself from their rusting chains that keep me from the life I know I am meant to live!!!" said John.
He didn't really say that, but I am guessing he thought it.
John passed easily. He is a great driver, which I take credit for. At the age of 8 I had him driving the golf cart with me when the pro couldn't see us.
That night was John's first to drive alone. I told him, "I am going to give you 'The Talk.' And I did, ending with the command to call me a couple of times, and to be home by 9:00 PM, which is law for the first six months. At 9:00 pm his car turns into a pumpkin, and if he is not home, I turn into Charles Bronson with a bad case of hemorrhoids.
I watched as he drove away at 6:30 in the 1996 Ford Explorer with 147,OOO miles on it. It was an old car Kristen used to haul stuff in. She gave me the Friend's and Family discount. I had it painted Jet Black.
Two hours later John called.
"Where are you?" I asked.
"I'm tailgating."
"What?"
"I'm tailgating at the football game."
I smiled at the idea of a 16 year old with the tailgate open and a six pack of Red Bull in the back.
He was hanging out, looking so cool. With his own car.
I closed the cell phone and stood there in the kitchen for a few minutes. I drifted back to the first month I had a license. We had one car in our family, a burgundy Pontiac convertible, the only really nice thing my father owned.
On a Friday night he reluctantly gave me permission to take his prized jewel out. I picked up my best friends Paul Miserindino, Richie Carleton and Peter Walen. We also jammed two girls into the car and the six of us headed to downtown New Haven to see a rock band. I cut through a state park. The park had tight, winding roads and after a mile or two I took a corner too fast and slid into a brick retaining wall. Everyone was O.K., but I had done a fair amount of damage to the Bonneville's driver's side.
Later that night I walked leaden-foot into our tiny house to face my father. He was still up reading the paper. The cigarette smoke drifted up from over the top of the New Haven Register. A can of Ballentine beer at his side on the small table next to his chair.
"I had a small accident" I choked out.
He said nothing.
"I'm sorry." I said.
After a moment, "Novice drivers."
The next day I got a job at the IHOP as a busboy and spent the next six months paying off the repairs.
If you think I am going to regret John reading that his father cracked up a car at his age, don't. Teen-age boys don't read much, and this week Halo 3 is out. I'm covered.
