Our last child is learning to drive. Actually, he’s learned. We just haven’t given him the okay to get his license because…teenage boys and insurance, that’s a wallet shocker. So he has to wait until we need him to drive.
I don’t teach the kids how to drive, Cal does. (In our state, parents are responsible to teach their kids to drive.) I started out teaching the kids, but then during one outing, I screamed. I guess there’s nothing more freaky than having your mom scream. (Nearly driving into a large ditch will do that to me.)
I’ve been known to reach over and honk at some other car. (Yes, I believe in punitive honking, but only when my kids are driving.)
I also stomp the floorboards of the car, slamming an imaginary brake. I still do this even to my fully-licensed, driving-for-years kids. But now I pretend I’m stretching my legs. Sadly, they are not fooled.
And there are all the times that I’ve done backseat driving. Cal is the official teacher, so I sit in the back. I really try to be quiet. But, well, no one in our family believes in braking. So I tell them when to brake. And I do it forcefully. I’m just trying to protect our health and well-being. But no one else sees it that way. So I get glares and heavy sighs. Now I just grab the seat in front of me and tighten my knuckles. And the driver says, “Mom, chill!”