It’s not a drive

…it’s a putt.

Or at least that is what my dad would say whenever he heard me proclaim that something was “driving me crazy.” The putt is a golf term (he had to explain this to me) and suggested that I was much closer to crazy than a drive….

And sitting in the passenger seat while your teenage child drives your vehicle can sometimes feel like you are just a putt away from crazy.

The first time I let her drive went pretty well. Except for one thing — whenever I would give her advice or correct something, she would respond with “I know.” I could have gone into a lengthy perturbed lecture about “if you know, why did you do it….” Instead, I let her know that it was my job to tell her things, and it was her job to listen. I suggested she say, “OK” instead of “I know.” And she agreed. This is good because I might have wanted to throttle her if she kept up the “I know” when she so clearly did not know.

The other day her dad was with us while she drove. She pulled out into the road too wide, and she went into the other lane although there was no reason to do so. She pulled back into her lane, but a car was coming form the other direction. Her dad panicked a bit. Hours later when it was just him and me, he admitted at how scared he was and how much that wide turn was still bothering him.

For the most part, she does pretty well. She isn’t good at right-hand turns. She wobbles within her lane (going back and forth but always staying within her lane), and whenever she tries to do something else, like turn on a blinker or the windshield wipers, she slows down. I’m sure this is partly because she is driving new to her vehicles, and she doesn’t know where everything is located.

For the most part, when she is behind the wheel it is uneventful. I am thankful for that. It is nice to be driven around, and we are both thinking ahead to the time when I will not have to be the one that leaves the house to go get children from practices and away games. It will free up so much of my time, and I wouldn’t mind at all.

My concern are those moments where she drifts too close to the center lane for my peace of mind…. GO RIGHT, GO RIGHT, GO RIGHT, I say loudly. Loudly she responds, “I AM. DON’T YELL.” And I wish I had one of those brakes on my side of the vehicle and that the steering wheel was closer in a minivan than it is. So far I haven’t grabbed the wheel, but those brief moments (less than 10 seconds total out of more than 5 hours of driving) is enough to make my heart beat fast and to have worried conversations with my husband.

I remember being a teen. I did not learn to drive stick easily. My parents didn’t even try to teach me. Instead, they left it to my brother and sent us out into the two-tracks behind our house in a beat-up truck. Eventually, I learned. But I’ve been thinking a lot lately about what Keith must have gone through having to sit in that seat next to me. It is easier, I think, when you are the one behind the wheel.

Me: It’s driving me crazy.

You: I thought it was a putt.

Me: It is now.

You: I know.

Me: Definitely a putt.

You: OK