Life in the Passenger Seat

Lane has now had his driver’s permit for a sum total of 18 days. I wish I could say I had acquired only a sum total of 18 grey hairs because of it, but I’d be lying if I did. It’s not that he’s a bad driver necessarily. Just a … um … very, very new one. For the most part, he really does a good job. But then there’s his quirks.

For starters, and it’s not really a quirk, but he wants to go every place I go now. Every. Single. Place. With school out we’ve got an awful lot of togetherness as it is. Now I can’t even escape for a peaceful, solitary stroll down the grocery store aisles any more. Anyone with a new driver will attest to said driver’s willingness, nay eagerness, to suddenly accompany Mom on literally any errand. So they can drive, of course.

And then there’s the speed. Not high speed. Oh, no. sometimes I wish it were. He drives like an 80 year-old woman. I get to the point where I just want to shout GO!!! But of course I’m supposed to be instilling good habits. Speeding is not one.

On the other hand, there is one location in which he is all too willing to drive fast. Corners. For someone who is very timid on the straightaways, he’s a demon on the corners. He denies it, but I think his driver’s ed instructor challenged the kids to see if they could get Mom’s minivan up on two wheels when cornering.

Then there’s the all-over-the-road thing. Most of the time he drives right down the middle of his lane like a good little boy. On the highway, when a car is approaching from the opposite direction, it makes him nervous and he squeezes the edge of the road. This makes Mom nervous and makes Mom squeeze the seat. And I don't mean with her hands. I think there’s a permanent ridge in the leather now. Or, at times, he just oozes over and drives Pac Man-like right down the dotted line. I can almost hear the ‘chomp, chomp, chomp’.

What has really surprised me in this whole adventure is discovering that he’s got octophobia. It never manifested itself when I was driving. If you’re not familiar with it, it’s a little-known fear of stop signs. It has to be a phobia as he always stops about 10’ back from one. He can’t really see into the intersection to check for traffic from where he stops, but his phobia forbids him from getting closer.

And, to top it off, they practiced “emergency braking” today in driver’s ed. His eyes literally glittered with joy when he explained it to me and told me he didn’t know you could stop that fast. I really think he’s just dying for a dog or a small child to run out into the street in front of him so that he can slam on the brakes in my van without repercussions.

And I’m suffering through all of this for what? So he can ask to borrow the car every Saturday night?

God. Help. Me.