So I am still working out this being a mother of teenage boys’ situation. On any given day, I can have numerous teenage boys in my backyard or in my home. Between the 12 year old, the 14 year old and the 16 year old – they can fill a yard quickly. I have been to Wal-Mart 4 times since the beginning of summer vacation and filled my garage refrigerator with cases and cases of water, Gatorade, Mountain Dew, Fanta, Iced Tea, and Kool Aid. I have stocked my pantry with junk food galore for those boys – chips, cookies, Twinkies, and Cheese Puffs! My freezer is continuously filled with popsicles, ice cream sandwiches, Klondike Bars, Hot Pockets, Soft Pretzels and Pizza Bagels. I’ve learned that those boys can do some serious damage fast to my stock. But I don’t mind. I like having them here. I like knowing they are safe. They are out of trouble. Besides, they are so busy.
They are outside shooting on our lacrosse goal, shooting basketballs, throwing the football, jumping on the trampoline, playing wiffle ball, playing badminton or volleyball and even Kick the Can. In the evenings, they play “manhunt” – a modern day form of hide and seek. They make trips back and forth on their bikes to the neighborhood pool for a bit throughout the day and return again. They may be here as early as 8:15 in the morning and as late as 10:30 at night. I don’t mind inviting them for dinner. Spaghetti is easy to cook in large quantities and it’s simple enough to buy enormous packages of chicken legs and thighs and grill them. I’ve even had them stand in my refrigerator at 8:15 am and ask if I could fry some bacon. (Now that I did not do. But I did make turkey club sandwiches for them for lunch. A woman has to know her limitations.) But it’s okay. It’s what I wanted. I wanted to be the house that everyone hangs at. It’s a good way to make sure that my teenagers are taking part in good clean fun rather than experimenting with something more serious at someone’s else’s house whose parents may not be home all day.
They know the rules at our house. They know that foul language is not acceptable. They know they can come and go all day long as long as they stop in to say hello and goodbye to me so that I can keep track of who is here when. They know not to throw their trash around and to use the recycle bins. They all get along and rotate turns with sports equipment. They manage to organize and orchestrate all sorts of activities with very few issues. I’ve even had these boys completely unprompted take their dishes and glasses to the sink, rinse them and place them in my dishwasher. (Their mothers would be ecstatic to know that – but probably also irritated that it doesn’t happen at home!) They all use wonderful manners and thank me each and every time for each thing I do, buy or supply. Are they loud? You bet! Can they be obnoxious? Absolutely! But a group of teenage boys does not intimidate me in the least.
So now you must be wondering, “What is she trying to work out?” In the opening of this piece, I referred to working out being a mother of teenage boys. It’s like this. It’s the teenage girls that happen to come over when the boys are all here. It doesn’t take many. It could be one or two. They usually travel in pairs – but sometimes there is the brave soul that works her way over here alone. This is when the dynamics of the day take a different path and sometimes leave me unsure how to handle things. Typically the girls don’t “belong” to any one in particular. Meaning, they aren’t someone’s girlfriend. They just happen to be friends with the group. Yet at any moment, any one of them can have one of these guys drape an arm around her, or she is going to wrap her arms around one of their necks and rest her head on his shoulder. Most of the time, I don’t know these girls prior and meet them for the first time upon their arrival. My boys are very good about introducing them to me when they show up and always manage to relay some kind comment about my home being nice or me being pretty. Seems nice enough, right?
So here is the scenario. Summertime. Many teenage boys hanging at my house. Teenage girls show up. They head out to the backyard. I am doing dishes in my kitchen watching out the window. They decide to jump on the trampoline. Teenage girls are in bikini tops. The boys seem very happy. The girls seem clueless. I watch. I watch. I pace. I am uncomfortable. These girls are in bikini tops jumping on the trampoline with an audience of a dozen teenage boys…and we’ll just say that these girls have been physically gifted. Now what? Do I ignore it? Do I walk outside and take them some shirts? Do I suggest they go home and get some clothes? I wonder do they KNOW what these boys are thinking? Do they care? Am I being ridiculous? I think about my youngest and only girl. How would I feel if that were her? Maybe none of those boys are thinking anything inappropriate – maybe I am reading too much into the situation. Later after the girls leave, I speak with my sons about it. I wasn’t wrong. They noticed. They enjoyed it immensely. I questioned them whether they thought the girls were even aware that what they were doing wasn’t okay. They didn’t seem to believe the girls were aware. My 12 year old was just hoping they would come back another time.
The next week we were at our marina where we keep our sailboat celebrating the 4th of July. 25 feet across the water from our boat was a large group of bikini wearing 20 something girls. They were playing music loudly, singing along triumphantly, holding a beer in one hand while dancing VERY closely with each other. I looked at the bow of my sailboat. I have 4 children standing there in awe. The boys literally have their lower jaws hanging. They suddenly remember that their good friend owns the boat next to the girls and felt the urge to go visit him. Hmm. Meanwhile my 10 year old daughter is mesmerized by the situation. She keeps saying, “What are they doing?” “Why are they doing that?” In their eyes, they were just having a good time and they saw nothing wrong with what they were doing – after all it is their boat – it’s a party – they are just singing and dancing, right?
The thought process is usually that boys are the physical aggressors who will take advantage of teenage girls. We have spent a great deal of time raising our boys to respect females. My husband and I have been very strict about them being physically demonstrative with their “girlfriends”. We have actually had to seriously counsel our sons in relationships that seemed to have physically aggressive girls involved. It is awkward to say the least. My husband recently said, “If I was 14 years old and a girl had done that, I think my head would have exploded. How come girls didn’t act like that 36 years ago?” Now obviously he was joking – but it still leaves me in a dilemma.
My oldest son believes that even though the girls come to hang out on the trampoline in their bikini tops – it is still good clean fun. I’m not buying it. It's hard to be the parent of the guys. Obviously, if the girls show up scantily clad - they are going to look. But I can't set a rule to have a dress code for girls that visit. In my confusion, I recently shared this conversation with one of my best friends and her teenage boys. The best answer I have at this point came from her 14 year old son. Post a sign outside by the trampoline that says “No Shoes, No Shirt, NO SERVICE!”
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
Who is in the Driver's Seat?
I have found myself at an unfamiliar place in life. Maybe unfamiliar isn’t the right word…perhaps uncomfortable. My 15 years, 11 month and 2 week old son needs to log his 60 hours of driving and I am finding this transition difficult. It’s a place where you are required to be responsible but not in control. But then again I guess that is what parenting a teenager always is.
There have been quite a few changes to the “getting your license” process since 23 years ago when I was on the other end of the excitement. The kids can get their learner’s permit at the age of 15 years and 9 months after they pass a vision and knowledge test. Then once the learner’s is obtained, they then must receive certification from a driver’s education course and then must log 60 hours of driving in different conditions at various times of the day with an adult who is 21 years or older before they can get their provisional license after holding the learner’s permit for a minimum of 9 months. The “supervising driver” (that would be the parent) signs this log and attests to the completion of the driving hours and conditions. Once all of the prior objectives have been met, your child can then schedule his/her appointment to go the MVA with their driving log and learner’s permit to be eligible for a provisional permit skills test. Effective January of 2009, all driver education providers will electronically submit the applicant's course completion information directly to the MVA. The minimum age requirement for a provisional license is 16 years and 6 months. The provisional permit allows the driver to drive alone only between the hours of 5 a.m. and midnight and will be held for a minimum of an 18 month period. If during that time there are any “moving violations”, the 18 month period is started from the beginning. Additionally, for the first 5 months after receiving the provisional license, if under the age of 18, the driver may not have any minors in the car (other than family members) unless an adult accompanies them. The earliest that a person can receive their full license is 17 years and 9 months. Once all of the above requirements have been met the MVA will automatically convert your provisional to a full license. An attachment card showing the conversion to a full license is mailed to the driver and the card is carried with the provisional license to show the change in licensing status. The attachment card is no longer needed when the provisional license expires. After the expiration, the driver comes in for a license renewal, pays the renewal fee and then is issued a full license. The minimum age for conversion is 18 years, 0 months, but provisional license holders under 18 must have the application co-signed by a parent.
At present, my son has received his learner’s permit. He has received his certification from the driver’s education course and is currently working on logging his driving hours. Currently my son has logged approximately 13 hours of driving time. He has driven on back winding roads, highways, small cities, congestion, rain, dawn and dusk. He has driven our oversized Yukon Denali, my little BMW convertible, and our good old 2000 Explorer. But I have to confess he has driven less than 60 minutes of that time with me as the supervising adult.
I never imagined I would have such trouble with this scenario. I’ll admit I felt a bit nostalgic and weepy when I realized he was old enough to begin the driving process. I’ll admit I felt a bit sad that I was old enough to have a son old enough…but nothing that should make me feel overwhelmingly afraid at the thought of riding shotgun with my own child.
In my mind, I transported myself back in time. I revisited those old memories of long ago when it was time for me to begin driving. Perhaps there was something that happened back then causing all of this fear now? I didn’t even go to get my license until I was 17. All of my friends were driving, my boyfriend drove – it really wasn’t a necessity for me. I recall my parents telling me it was time and then I went to do it. I have very few memories of driving with my parents. In fact, I don’t recall driving with my mother at all and to be honest, I only have one memory of driving with my father.
My father drove a manual transmission truck. I can remember him taking me out to teach me how to drive a stick shift. It is all a bit foggy – but I know that somewhere along the peaks and valleys of the rolling hills of Route 4 down in Northern Calvert County, I stalled that truck, jumped out into the road, ran over to the passenger side, told my father to move over and drive me home. Anymore than that I suppose I could have repressed. But I can’t say that I have any tragic memories or even slightly upsetting memories. No one yelled at me or berated me. Other than that one memory I don’t remember driving with my parents at all so I have concluded that it must have been fairly uneventful.
I do recall driving with my physical education teacher from school that was also my driver’s education instructor. Again, nothing out of the ordinary there. We drove into Annapolis. We drove into Waldorf. No bad memories. Nothing that would cause me to fear being the passenger of a rookie driver. I don't understand my irrational concern.
My husband comes to me and says, “You need to drive with him.” I refuse. I tell him that he is doing a great job and that I home school our children so this can be something that he handles without me. That argument works for a while but then he eventually returns to me and says, “You need to drive with him.” This time his argument is more prepared and seems to make sense to me. He explains that he is never a passenger in the car and that I am, so I should give him my perspective about whether or not my son might be clinging to one side of the road too much. Rats. It sounds logical. So I agree to ride – but I make my husband ride in the backseat.
It was almost surreal. I sat very still and tried to be nonchalant about it all. I looked at my son and he seemed very serious, almost bordering on uptight. My son drove along and my husband began barking out commands from behind me. What is the speed limit on this road? Pull up to the line. Make sure you signal. That was a rolling stop. I found myself just sitting there basically concentrating on my breathing. Finally, my husband asks me if he is riding too close to the shoulder. I know I have to speak. So I try to speak as quietly and calmly as possible – which is completely against my Italian nature. I say, “I don’t have a problem with his driving. I think he is doing just fine.” We drive home.
Much more time passes. My husband comes to me again. “He thinks that you think he is a bad driver and that you won‘t ride with him because of that. I think you are hurting his feelings. You are making him feel bad. You should ride with him.” Well, I certainly don’t want to make him self-conscious or create any scenarios that are going to land me on Dr. Phil one day with my son unable to deal with life because I wouldn’t drive with him during his learning phase. Again I concede but I will ride in the backseat while my husband rides up front.
I find myself being more vocal this time, though definitely still concentrating on breathing and talking in my most soothing voice. Careful not to say anything too quickly or loudly – I don’t want to startle him and truthfully I may go into a full blown panic if I don’t remain calm and relaxed. He is doing fine. I can see his concentration. Both hands are at 10 and 2 on the wheel. He is sitting erect in his seat and appears to be watching everything intently. My husband is warning him over and over of driving too close to the right hand white line. We are on back rural roads and their isn’t a shoulder to buffer and eventually he hugs that line a little too much, the right front tire hits a divot in the asphalt and he bobbles a bit dipping down into the grass for a moment but makes a nice recovery. I am unable to speak – as my heart is pounding and I have an extreme adrenaline rush. I hear my husband raise his voice and immediately respond. I let him handle it. I am busy breathing through my nose and out through my mouth. I look at my son. I see his lips moving. He is obviously having an exchange with my husband. But I hear nothing.
Eventually school is out and my son is chomping at the bit to drive everywhere I am going. “Can I drive?” is the first thing out of his mouth if I say, “I have to go…” Most times I say no. But there has been a time or two that I have agreed though not wholeheartedly. I concentrate on my breathing. “You are too close to the center line.” “You are too close to the center line.” “You need to brake going into the turn.” “You need to brake going into the turn, then accelerate.” “You are too heavy on the gas in the beginning.” “Don’t crank the wheel so hard when you are turning.” I watch his face. His eyes are constantly searching around him. It is obvious he is trying very hard. He takes each of my comments calmly and says okay. I have survived again and we head home. I get home and feel proud of myself. I talked. I observed. I parented. I’m feeling better about all of this now. Perhaps I will let him drive more often.
But the next time I am getting ready to go somewhere – he asks and I find myself immediately saying no. Then something dawns on me. When I am going somewhere, I am usually in a hurry. I want to get there – get what I need and get back. I am on a mission. When I drive, things are automatic. I’m not thinking about every little movement. It feels natural. To give my son the driver’s seat means that I am required to be in a different frame of mind. When he drives, I have to watch things in a different way. I have to be aware in a heightened state that I am not when I am driving myself – I can be on “auto pilot”. I am also used to being a passenger in a car and being able to enjoy the ride. Listening to the music, admiring people’s lawns, noticing the groundhogs along the side of the road. Being a passenger means you are not in control of that vehicle. It means that you are relying on the driver to make good decisions and judgments. It is a completely different beast to have someone else driving but still having to be the one on alert to everything around you knowing you are responsible. It is an unusual position if you really think about it.
Once I realize these things, I feel like I am beginning to understand where some of my issues are stemming from and I feel like I can better deal. I decide to let my son drive again. We get in the car. I concentrate on my breathing. I am looking both ways. I am starting to make comments. But now he is arguing his point of view. What the heck? Did he seriously just argue with me about driving? This wasn’t in the script. Does he actually think that he knows better than me? Of course he does, he is a teenager…an argument ensues and I need to concentrate on my breathing while he reaches to change the radio station. I'm not sure what to make of this experience. His new found confidence surprises me.
The next trip out results in a few “close calls”. He makes a left hand turn across traffic that in my opinion, he clearly does not have enough room to clear. There is no time to think of breathing or staying calm voiced. I start yelling. “What were you thinking?” He responds, his voice raised and disappointed in me that I didn’t trust his judgment and perspective of the situation. I am trying to explain why that was a bad decision. He is trying to explain how he was fine. We are not going to see this eye to eye. Time to go home.
It is now time for him to complete 2 of the 6 hours required for his driver’s education course. The teacher comes to pick him and they go out and drive around for 2 hours. His instructor thinks he is doing very well and has many complements. Okay, if a professional feels this way perhaps I need to be more open-minded. Perhaps the concept of our role reversal is hindering my vision.
I go out with him again. This time he has the convertible top down. He has his music playing on his radio station. He is singing along. I am concentrating on my breathing. He asks me to tell him what lane I’d like him to be in. He seems to be relying on my opinion. Is this because he is trying to appease me? We arrive at our destination again unscathed. He is happy and relaxed and very talkative. He helps me pick up my things and goes to purchase himself an iced coffee from Starbucks. We get into the car. Top down again. He finds his song on the radio again. He is singing again. As we are driving down the road, he reaches over to pick up his coffee…That’s it!
“Not a chance, Bud! Two hands on the wheel – you can have it when we get home.” “But Mom, I’m fine really.” He is laughing at my reaction. He makes it a playful gesture and keeps teasing me as we drive home.
It is a warm summer evening with a nice breeze. We are laughing. He is singing. He is relaxed. I look over at my son, and he does not look uptight or anxious. He isn’t sitting with his knuckles clenched and gripping the wheel. He looks natural. He is the driver. I am the passenger. I exhale. I look over at the cows in the pasture on the side of the road.
There have been quite a few changes to the “getting your license” process since 23 years ago when I was on the other end of the excitement. The kids can get their learner’s permit at the age of 15 years and 9 months after they pass a vision and knowledge test. Then once the learner’s is obtained, they then must receive certification from a driver’s education course and then must log 60 hours of driving in different conditions at various times of the day with an adult who is 21 years or older before they can get their provisional license after holding the learner’s permit for a minimum of 9 months. The “supervising driver” (that would be the parent) signs this log and attests to the completion of the driving hours and conditions. Once all of the prior objectives have been met, your child can then schedule his/her appointment to go the MVA with their driving log and learner’s permit to be eligible for a provisional permit skills test. Effective January of 2009, all driver education providers will electronically submit the applicant's course completion information directly to the MVA. The minimum age requirement for a provisional license is 16 years and 6 months. The provisional permit allows the driver to drive alone only between the hours of 5 a.m. and midnight and will be held for a minimum of an 18 month period. If during that time there are any “moving violations”, the 18 month period is started from the beginning. Additionally, for the first 5 months after receiving the provisional license, if under the age of 18, the driver may not have any minors in the car (other than family members) unless an adult accompanies them. The earliest that a person can receive their full license is 17 years and 9 months. Once all of the above requirements have been met the MVA will automatically convert your provisional to a full license. An attachment card showing the conversion to a full license is mailed to the driver and the card is carried with the provisional license to show the change in licensing status. The attachment card is no longer needed when the provisional license expires. After the expiration, the driver comes in for a license renewal, pays the renewal fee and then is issued a full license. The minimum age for conversion is 18 years, 0 months, but provisional license holders under 18 must have the application co-signed by a parent.
At present, my son has received his learner’s permit. He has received his certification from the driver’s education course and is currently working on logging his driving hours. Currently my son has logged approximately 13 hours of driving time. He has driven on back winding roads, highways, small cities, congestion, rain, dawn and dusk. He has driven our oversized Yukon Denali, my little BMW convertible, and our good old 2000 Explorer. But I have to confess he has driven less than 60 minutes of that time with me as the supervising adult.
I never imagined I would have such trouble with this scenario. I’ll admit I felt a bit nostalgic and weepy when I realized he was old enough to begin the driving process. I’ll admit I felt a bit sad that I was old enough to have a son old enough…but nothing that should make me feel overwhelmingly afraid at the thought of riding shotgun with my own child.
In my mind, I transported myself back in time. I revisited those old memories of long ago when it was time for me to begin driving. Perhaps there was something that happened back then causing all of this fear now? I didn’t even go to get my license until I was 17. All of my friends were driving, my boyfriend drove – it really wasn’t a necessity for me. I recall my parents telling me it was time and then I went to do it. I have very few memories of driving with my parents. In fact, I don’t recall driving with my mother at all and to be honest, I only have one memory of driving with my father.
My father drove a manual transmission truck. I can remember him taking me out to teach me how to drive a stick shift. It is all a bit foggy – but I know that somewhere along the peaks and valleys of the rolling hills of Route 4 down in Northern Calvert County, I stalled that truck, jumped out into the road, ran over to the passenger side, told my father to move over and drive me home. Anymore than that I suppose I could have repressed. But I can’t say that I have any tragic memories or even slightly upsetting memories. No one yelled at me or berated me. Other than that one memory I don’t remember driving with my parents at all so I have concluded that it must have been fairly uneventful.
I do recall driving with my physical education teacher from school that was also my driver’s education instructor. Again, nothing out of the ordinary there. We drove into Annapolis. We drove into Waldorf. No bad memories. Nothing that would cause me to fear being the passenger of a rookie driver. I don't understand my irrational concern.
My husband comes to me and says, “You need to drive with him.” I refuse. I tell him that he is doing a great job and that I home school our children so this can be something that he handles without me. That argument works for a while but then he eventually returns to me and says, “You need to drive with him.” This time his argument is more prepared and seems to make sense to me. He explains that he is never a passenger in the car and that I am, so I should give him my perspective about whether or not my son might be clinging to one side of the road too much. Rats. It sounds logical. So I agree to ride – but I make my husband ride in the backseat.
It was almost surreal. I sat very still and tried to be nonchalant about it all. I looked at my son and he seemed very serious, almost bordering on uptight. My son drove along and my husband began barking out commands from behind me. What is the speed limit on this road? Pull up to the line. Make sure you signal. That was a rolling stop. I found myself just sitting there basically concentrating on my breathing. Finally, my husband asks me if he is riding too close to the shoulder. I know I have to speak. So I try to speak as quietly and calmly as possible – which is completely against my Italian nature. I say, “I don’t have a problem with his driving. I think he is doing just fine.” We drive home.
Much more time passes. My husband comes to me again. “He thinks that you think he is a bad driver and that you won‘t ride with him because of that. I think you are hurting his feelings. You are making him feel bad. You should ride with him.” Well, I certainly don’t want to make him self-conscious or create any scenarios that are going to land me on Dr. Phil one day with my son unable to deal with life because I wouldn’t drive with him during his learning phase. Again I concede but I will ride in the backseat while my husband rides up front.
I find myself being more vocal this time, though definitely still concentrating on breathing and talking in my most soothing voice. Careful not to say anything too quickly or loudly – I don’t want to startle him and truthfully I may go into a full blown panic if I don’t remain calm and relaxed. He is doing fine. I can see his concentration. Both hands are at 10 and 2 on the wheel. He is sitting erect in his seat and appears to be watching everything intently. My husband is warning him over and over of driving too close to the right hand white line. We are on back rural roads and their isn’t a shoulder to buffer and eventually he hugs that line a little too much, the right front tire hits a divot in the asphalt and he bobbles a bit dipping down into the grass for a moment but makes a nice recovery. I am unable to speak – as my heart is pounding and I have an extreme adrenaline rush. I hear my husband raise his voice and immediately respond. I let him handle it. I am busy breathing through my nose and out through my mouth. I look at my son. I see his lips moving. He is obviously having an exchange with my husband. But I hear nothing.
Eventually school is out and my son is chomping at the bit to drive everywhere I am going. “Can I drive?” is the first thing out of his mouth if I say, “I have to go…” Most times I say no. But there has been a time or two that I have agreed though not wholeheartedly. I concentrate on my breathing. “You are too close to the center line.” “You are too close to the center line.” “You need to brake going into the turn.” “You need to brake going into the turn, then accelerate.” “You are too heavy on the gas in the beginning.” “Don’t crank the wheel so hard when you are turning.” I watch his face. His eyes are constantly searching around him. It is obvious he is trying very hard. He takes each of my comments calmly and says okay. I have survived again and we head home. I get home and feel proud of myself. I talked. I observed. I parented. I’m feeling better about all of this now. Perhaps I will let him drive more often.
But the next time I am getting ready to go somewhere – he asks and I find myself immediately saying no. Then something dawns on me. When I am going somewhere, I am usually in a hurry. I want to get there – get what I need and get back. I am on a mission. When I drive, things are automatic. I’m not thinking about every little movement. It feels natural. To give my son the driver’s seat means that I am required to be in a different frame of mind. When he drives, I have to watch things in a different way. I have to be aware in a heightened state that I am not when I am driving myself – I can be on “auto pilot”. I am also used to being a passenger in a car and being able to enjoy the ride. Listening to the music, admiring people’s lawns, noticing the groundhogs along the side of the road. Being a passenger means you are not in control of that vehicle. It means that you are relying on the driver to make good decisions and judgments. It is a completely different beast to have someone else driving but still having to be the one on alert to everything around you knowing you are responsible. It is an unusual position if you really think about it.
Once I realize these things, I feel like I am beginning to understand where some of my issues are stemming from and I feel like I can better deal. I decide to let my son drive again. We get in the car. I concentrate on my breathing. I am looking both ways. I am starting to make comments. But now he is arguing his point of view. What the heck? Did he seriously just argue with me about driving? This wasn’t in the script. Does he actually think that he knows better than me? Of course he does, he is a teenager…an argument ensues and I need to concentrate on my breathing while he reaches to change the radio station. I'm not sure what to make of this experience. His new found confidence surprises me.
The next trip out results in a few “close calls”. He makes a left hand turn across traffic that in my opinion, he clearly does not have enough room to clear. There is no time to think of breathing or staying calm voiced. I start yelling. “What were you thinking?” He responds, his voice raised and disappointed in me that I didn’t trust his judgment and perspective of the situation. I am trying to explain why that was a bad decision. He is trying to explain how he was fine. We are not going to see this eye to eye. Time to go home.
It is now time for him to complete 2 of the 6 hours required for his driver’s education course. The teacher comes to pick him and they go out and drive around for 2 hours. His instructor thinks he is doing very well and has many complements. Okay, if a professional feels this way perhaps I need to be more open-minded. Perhaps the concept of our role reversal is hindering my vision.
I go out with him again. This time he has the convertible top down. He has his music playing on his radio station. He is singing along. I am concentrating on my breathing. He asks me to tell him what lane I’d like him to be in. He seems to be relying on my opinion. Is this because he is trying to appease me? We arrive at our destination again unscathed. He is happy and relaxed and very talkative. He helps me pick up my things and goes to purchase himself an iced coffee from Starbucks. We get into the car. Top down again. He finds his song on the radio again. He is singing again. As we are driving down the road, he reaches over to pick up his coffee…That’s it!
“Not a chance, Bud! Two hands on the wheel – you can have it when we get home.” “But Mom, I’m fine really.” He is laughing at my reaction. He makes it a playful gesture and keeps teasing me as we drive home.
It is a warm summer evening with a nice breeze. We are laughing. He is singing. He is relaxed. I look over at my son, and he does not look uptight or anxious. He isn’t sitting with his knuckles clenched and gripping the wheel. He looks natural. He is the driver. I am the passenger. I exhale. I look over at the cows in the pasture on the side of the road.
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