The Absence of Unease

The other day I was riding "shotgun" with my 16 year old son. He wanted to work out at the Y and because he hasn't quite gotten his driver's license yet, he must have a licensed driver in the passenger's seat.

Now he's been driving since he was able get his temps at 15 and a half and I must say he is really quite a good driver by now - I know this, or actually it would be better to say I met the abrupt reality of this, because of what I did on that ride:

I watched the scenery go by.

That's it - watched the world go by out the side window. So why does that matter? Think about any time you've ridden with someone who really was not a good driver, like maybe riding shotgun with your own novice driver, or possibly a taxi driver who drives like they just came to this country from somewhere where they could never drive very fast because the only roads are choked with cattle, people and potholes. Probably all three. Anyway, think about the unbridled terror you felt when this driver you've trusted with your life seems hell bent on ending it prematurely for you! And if you've never felt this before, then you've never taught anyone to drive, have had extraordinarily good luck with taxis, or you're the worst driver you've ever met and don't know it and so don't know to be scared. Well anyway, because I have been in that situation more than once, and am just not the type of person who willingly gives up that much control in the first place, it was unthinkable that I would not be on "high alert" when in the passenger seat with a 16yo who's been driving fewer total hours than I've spent stuck in traffic!

But truth be told, there I was, son driving, me daydreaming, and time passing.

We get to the Y completely uneventfully and I'm yanked back to reality only when he stops to make the left turn into the Y. It was at that moment when I realized why this trip was so unusual: My son is turning into a responsible adult. (Knowing his parents as well as I do - that seems like a miracle.)

As I drive home alone, I'm remembering this same child was the one who, just a few years ago, could barely steer his bike straight but was nevertheless hell bent on riding the thing as fast as possible while ignoring all the dangers: Parked cars. Moving cars. Other kids. Trees. You get the idea.

Thankfully he drives cars nothing like that. Funny how they grow up when we're not paying attention.

When I arrive at home, I open the garage door and can you guess what's the first thing I see? Sitting there, propped against the wall, is the bike that reckless child once used to ride. Bent wheel, torn seat, crooked and battered handlebars . . .

I decide that I'll drive him back after his workout.