Drivers Ed

When I was growing up in big woods, aka Smith Creek, Fl, I was convinced that everyone was born knowing how to operate a motor vehicle right out of the womb.  Of course to do so, one needed to grow legs long enough to reach the gas pedal and a neck long enough to see over the steering wheel unless you got creative.  And since there was precious little traffic on our lonely stretch of asphalt, no one was ever really in danger of being plowed down by a seven year old driving a Buick, sitting on a pile of telephone books with a can of Spaghetti O's strapped to his foot.

I can still hear my Daddy's deep, authoritative voice demanding, "STAY IN THE RUTS, STAY IN THE RUTS" while he was squeezing the rim of the dashboard and nearly ripping off the door handle. My small, bony fingers wrapped tight around the steering wheel, I bounced us all over the dirt road that led to my grandparents house.  Wheeeee!!!  I was probably 12 whole years old by then.  I guess you can say I got a late start. 

My early driving career did not prepare me, however, to teach my own children to drive.  In fact, my oldest already knew how by the time I asked him if he'd like his dad to give him a lesson.  Seems an older friend with a car had been letting him drive.  I'm pretty sure this was way before he got his learners permit, and as much as I hate to admit it, I was so glad that sweet soul trusted him behind her wheel.  I am equally grateful that I didn't know about it at the time.  Looking back though, how many boys can say they were taught to drive by a former Governor's grandaughter?  Huh?

My youngest son would be taught properly, I decided.  Not by me though.  I'm a HORRIBLE teacher.  His father and uncle would teach him but I would be the one to take him to the DMV to get his learners permit. 

The big day came at last.

After providing the proper documentation, the lady waiting on us entered it into the system and then told Nicholas to follow her to where she would test his vision and take his picture that would adorn his driver license. It went something like this:

Lady says to Nicholas,  "Put your forehead against this bar, press in and read line 5."

20 seconds go by and he remains silent.  I grow concerned.

Lady asks him loudly, "Can you read line 5?"

To which he replys,  "Aloud?"

That's my boy.

He talked me into letting him drive us home.

And all I could think of to say as I gripped the sides of the passenger seat was,  "STAY IN THE RUTS, STAY IN THE RUTS"!