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Teenage Road Test

Road Test By Rachel Trachten "Just because you're scared of driving doesn't mean I am." My teenage daughter hurls this wisdom at me, shoving her cereal bowl aside. We both ignore the small sprays of milk that form puddles on the kitchen table. Admittedly, I'm an uneasy driver. But I've been a parent long enough to recognize a diversionary tactic. Barely mustering a neutral tone, I reply, "This isn't about me. It's about learning to be a safe driver, which takes practice and ... " Jen interrupts loudly: "Do you realize that I spend nearly three hours a day commuting on the bus and train? I'm ready to have my own car and drive to school." My voice rises. "You can't just take your road test and then expect to be driving to school on the freeway." Jen glares and stands up, hands on her hips. As if addressing a stubborn and slow-witted child, she says: "There's a progression to this, in case you hadn't noticed. I'll practice with my permit, then I'll get my license, and then I'm not allowed to drive with friends for six months. It's gradual." My version of gradual is more like 10 years. Jen will soon turn 16, and I'm confident that she'll pass her road test. But why has she assumed that a license means shunning the school bus and driving 30 miles to high school each morning? "I'm glad that it's gradual," I tell her with practiced calm, "but the highway is very different. People drive 70. " "I've already driven on the highway twice and I did fine. Mr. Kam says I'm doing better than most kids my age." Her voice has gone from loud to shrill. "At least he has confidence in me." I've landed on an alien planet where, in spite of my reasonable nature, I've managed to enrage one of the natives. The creature spews venom as we fail at all communication. Jen is standing too close to me, her blue eyes narrowed. "Anyway, once I have my license and buy my own car, you can't stop me from driving." Despite her lack of funds, these words jolt me. By nature, she is cautious, even fearful. Why can't she find her bravado over dyed hair or even a nose ring? "Driving will be good for her," my husband Brian assures me. Whenever we have this conversation, Brian also feels rather alien to me. I consider disregarding whatever he's about to say, but force myself to listen. He says, "In high school, I was the responsible kid who stayed sober and drove friends home from parties. I can see Jen becoming independent by taking on that role." Though my stomach is churning, I don't completely disagree. Jen has always wanted to stay close to home. She's turned down offers of sleepaway camp and even a European vacation. Mid-way through high school, it's time for her to venture out. Could driving boost her courage and confidence? But I find it hard to imagine Jen starting her day behind the wheel. She leaves for school in a zombie-like state, barely alert enough to ride a bus. "Driving may make her life more convenient," I tell Brian, "but it's not worth the risk." Brian disagrees. "If she's not driving her own car, there's the risk that she'll take rides from friends. With practice, she'll be a safer driver than most other kids." Ouch. I hadn't considered the terrible prospect of other teens with cars. Couldn't all the parents just get together and withhold access to cars until college? What's the rush here? On the other hand, there may be a different risk to consider. Despite Jen's bold words, her confidence is paper thin. Last Saturday, near a local mall, she turned from the wrong lane and the car behind us honked angrily. "This is scary," she told me, sounding like her little girl self. "I was confused about which lane I was in." After shopping, she shook her head when I offered the car keys. "No, I need a break," she said. "I don't like these funky lanes." Relieved, I got in on the driver's side. But this morning Jen is fearless and hostile. Wiping up the spilled milk, I tell her, "Dad and I want you to practice driving as much as possible." "How can I practice when you never let me drive anywhere?" I count silently to three. "How about doing some driving right now?" "Where are we going?" "We'll just go for the practice. If you have any errands, we can do those." "I don’t have errands, so it's ridiculous to drive around for no reason." "It's not for no reason. It's for practice," I tell the empty kitchen. I imagine Jen two years from now, casually hoisting a suitcase into the trunk of her car. She's home from college for a long weekend and on Sunday afternoon she's ready to drive back to school. Or maybe not. Perhaps she wasn't ready to leave home after all and is attending a local community college. Brian and I worry and wonder when she'll find her independence. "Don't feed her fear," my courageous voice instructs me. "Keep her alive," my fearful voice responds. I think of Jen as a toddler, standing at the steps of the big red twisty slide. While the other kids in her play group sturdily climbed up and slid down, Jen folded her arms and announced "I could slide any time I want, but I don't like the slide." Choking back a motherly pep talk, I settled for "You might like it if you try. I'll catch you at the bottom." Week after week, Jen stood by the slide, a tiny frightened queen surveying her subjects. I stood beside her, seeking the right balance -- encouragement just short of pressure. Then, one day, she climbed up and slid down. Years later, I struggle to connect my small, gentle daughter with the confusing, messy creature who has taken her place. In recent months, even my best attempts have been greeted with indifference or scorn. And yet, just last week when we went for pizza, Jen surprised me. "I really like my new softball coach, mom," she confided. "I think he'll give me a chance at first base!" And so, the next day I look again for an opening. "Jen, I have errands at the bakery and the bookstore. Do you feel like driving?" "Well, ok, as long as you don't criticize every minute." Her attempt to sound bored doesn't quite succeed. I take a long, slow breath and hand her the keys. About the author: Rachel Trachten writes and argues with her children in Berkeley, CA. She grew up in New York City, where teens travel by subway. She can be reached at rtrachten@aol.com. © siliconmom.com

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