Don’t Block The Box
Re-learning the rules of the road through the eyes of my 15-year-old son.
I have breathed my way through labor, tantrums, and household disasters like a yoga guru. So why do I feel like I need oxygen administered STAT while my teen son is driving?
I can assure you your heart rate will never be the same again after your 15-year-old son merges onto Interstate 95 with you in the passenger seat. There is a reason why driving instructors are undisturbed by the sheer magnitude of young teens driving. THEY HAVE A BRAKE ON THEIR SIDE OF THE CAR! On the other hand, I have no emergency brake to use when my son is trying to merge into the left lane with cars all around him holding steady at 70 mph. All I can do is inhale and exhale as I grip my leather seat with all my might.
I am officially this kid’s ride or die sidekick for the next 70 hours leading up to his official driving test, and I need to get my act together.
When I switch lanes, it is an automatic response. I have never had to articulate how my head turns left and right continuously while my foot hovers between the gas pedal and brake, waiting to make my next move UNTIL NOW. My son relies on my prowess to guide him onto these death-defying roads, and I am now his north star. I can’t wrap my head around the fact that I need to transfer my instinctual driving skills into words in a matter of seconds. Can you say bananas? I am officially this kid’s ride or die sidekick for the next 70 hours leading up to his official driving test, and I need to get my act together.
My honorary Ph.D. in driving has no meaning now. I went into this role thinking I was a driver extraordinaire, passing on my mad automotive wisdom to my firstborn. NOT! I have breathed my way through labor, tantrums, and household disasters like a yoga guru. So why do I feel like I need oxygen administered STAT while my teen son is driving? It’s not like I’m from my parent’s generation where clutching the passenger side door handle for dear life and stringing together melodies of swear words while mentoring your kid driving is the norm. I want to be the patient mom who gracefully rides shotgun while her kid stops three times, approaching every stop sign before the final stop. I want to be the relaxed mom who doesn’t mind the mediocre pace of the speed limit while numerous cars pass us impatiently on the road. I want to be the chill mom on the highway while my son puts the pedal to the medal and hits 65 mph sandwiched between two oversized trucks carrying farm animals. However, relinquishing control of my car that weighs over 4,000 pounds to someone 31 years younger as I play the part of diligent passenger and instructor galore is easier said than done.
What I am realizing is that teaching my very own flesh and blood how to drive when my hand is no longer on the wheel is not only the ultimate privilege but my craziest parenting moment yet. My teeth are clenched, my palms are sweaty and the probability of me internally unraveling is high, but my kid is slaying this driving gig and I am along 100% for this epic ride. I am in total awe of his excitement for driving our super stylish minivan and his respect for the responsibility that will soon be his to bear. I’ve even caught myself between deep breaths fantasizing about unloading some of my endless driving duties over to him when he passes his test. A mom can dream, right?So as I re-learn the rules of the road through the eyes of my 15-year-old son I share this advice with him…Breathe in, breathe out, merge left, and DON’T BLOCK THE BOX!
Kelly is a former Behavior Analyst who is now writing hard and “momming” harder. She is the creator of Dear Mr. Hemingway, LLC, a literary website for the everyday reader where she overshares books she loves. Her writing is fun, witty, and accessible to everyone. This summer Kelly launched DMH~Pages Well Paired, a curated gift box for book lovers. She is happily married and mom to three boys (15, 13 & 12). Kelly lives in a small coastal town in Maine where reading, writing, and enjoying life to the fullest is her ultimate jam. To keep things at a chaotic pace, she pretends to be a farmer by raising backyard chickens and Pekin ducks.
