BC Parent Magazine. July 1996
On The Road Again…. for the very first time
Everything seems to be going in slow motion as I watch the key enter the ignition switch. Her life passes before my eyes. Sixteen years ago I was laying on the delivery table, pain bending me in half, pushing the slippery bulk of our first child into the world. Is the tremor in her hand one of fear or excitement? The same hands I watched navigate a teething biscuit into her mouth are now going to pilot a 4000 pound vehicle down our quiet neighborhood street. I can hear the sound of my own heartbeat drumming in my ears.
This is a ‘landmark’ day in my life as well as hers, much like the day she took her first steps, the first in a journey that would lead her away from the safety net of my arms. Who deemed that sixteen would be the ideal age to learn to drive? Who thought kids would be responsible enough to take their lives, and any in their path, in their hands? Not me!
I hear the click of ignition and the hum of the engine. I watch as she adjusts the mirrors her eyes dancing as they dart from each reflection. My heart skips a beat as I recall my first encounter with the gas pedal in my father’s car, the anticipation of the open road. I was, of course, far more mature at age sixteen, much more worldly and wise. My father wore a fear-soaked expression as he delivered his cautionary address on the rules of the road and right-of-way. I remember nodding, wishing he’d skip to the part where I could take the car out of park.
She pulls the emergency break lever with a ‘pop’ and I realize that liftoff is imminent. I hold my breath.
This isn’t her maiden flight, she’s had a few lessons with a professional instructor, an investment I would recommend to parents with children of driving age. For a nominal fee an instructor, complete with car, will appear in your driveway. Armed with nerves of steel and dual controls, they will confidently take your child out to play in traffic. Forty-five minutes later they will return, faces blushed but beaming – the instructor will inform you that with a little practice this young person will become a fine driver. The practice is up to you.
So here we are, braced and buckled, prepared for anything that the traffic patterns of the Lower Mainland will throw our way. Right. I take several deep breaths and nod, she slides the selector into drive. The brakes moan as she slowly releases the pressure on them. We’re off.
As we creep out of the driveway I hear the monotonous sound of my own voice droning on about the hazards of the road; children, cars and other important objects to avoid. She maneuvers the vehicle around the spoils of a hockey game hastily vacated in the centre of the street, the players waving excitedly from the safety of front lawns as their babysitter takes flight. The stop sign at the top of the street grows ominously closer. My mind searches frantically for the words to the Twenty-third Psalm. I’m somewhere in the ‘Valley of Death’ when the car inches to a stop. She turns to me with a smile that says ‘see!’ And I release the breath that I was unaware I was holding.
The look on her face is one of excitement and pride. I’ve seen that look a million times before; when she jumped into the swimming pool for the first time and came safely back to the surface for air, when she read the first page in the Grade one reader without making a mistake. It’s a look that makes me shiver; she’s taking another step away.
We are approaching our first traffic light, the green glow changes to yellow as we roll towards it. My right foot rises instinctively, the air between it and the floor of the car disappears with a ‘thud’. My heart stops beating momentarily as the message from my brain to my mouth completes its passage in a repetitive “brake, Brake, BRAKE!” The vehicle comes to a halt straddling the crosswalk. I have just experienced the ‘warp-time factor’; although minute, there is a definite delay between determining that action is required and the taking of said action. “ I WAS braking,” she says in disgust. I find myself gasping for air, the red light allowing for a welcomed pause. I reiterate intersection protocol, she nods obediently, ‘Yeah, yeah, yeah’ written on her face. We proceed through the green light.
She emotes a subtle air of confidence that makes me fear for our lives. Like radar, my eyes scan the horizon in search of danger; pedestrians unaware of our novice presence, oncoming traffic innocently approaching. Every cell in my body is on red alert, every muscle tensed and every sense stretched to its limit, adrenaline oozing out of every pore. I’m now praying for the next red light.
Her excitement is contagious as she conquers yet another traffic signal, we are both thrilled at the completion of her left-hand turn. I can feel my breathing returning to a normal rhythm and my shoulders descending. We are homeward bound.
As she pulls up in front of our house her expression is electric, she sparkles with accomplishment. “Good job, Mom!” she says, tossing me the keys. I’m taken aback as I wonder exactly who was teaching who. We have both taken a giant step toward independence, one of us with reluctance the other with enthusiasm.