Risky Business*
*Not like Tom Cruise procuring prostitutes for teens.
This is my contribution to the Soaring Twenties (STSC) monthly Symposium. This month’s Symposium theme is “risk.”
A few weeks ago I spent a long weekend with my grandson Phineas. His dad and one of his other brothers had gone on a short jaunt to Austin for the Formula One race and I went up to babysit. Finny is 18; he doesn’t need a babysitter, but he’s still a senior in highschool. Leaving him alone for the weekend would be a risk, to his safety, to his health, to others? Parenting is different now, and so is the world. While they are certainly not all sweet and innocent, kids aren’t as anxious to grow up and leave the nest as we most certainly were at that age. Finny is no exception. At age 18 he hadn’t even bothered to get a drivers permit or learn to drive. For those of you who are thinking, so what? No big deal. I will counter, that unless you live in a large city, in the US driving is essential. Public transportation in the suburbs and rural areas does not exist. One of the first steps out the door on the way to adulthood is getting a drivers permit.
Mission Impossible
My mission, should I accept it, ( dunt, dunt, dunt- dunt dunt dunt; dunt, dunt, dunt-dunt dunt dunt -dunt, dunt, dunt- dunt dunt dunt— da da daa - da da daaaa…you know, not the ones with Tom Cruise, the ones with Martin Landau and Barbara Bain) was to make sure that he got his permit over the weekend.
“It’s Impossible, Grandma.”, he complained to me over the phone a week or so before my visit. “I don’t have any of the stuff.”
“What stuff do you need?”
“Lots of stuff, like, lots of it.”
“For example?”
“I dunno, you know,…stuff.”
“OK, Mr Big Stuff we’ll figure it out. Go to the bmv website and read up on it.”
Now, if my memory served me, I thought I knew what all was involved. Sadly, it doesn’t serve me well, kinda spotty where I am.
“All he’ll need is his birth certificate, right? I mean, that’s what is was when I got mine” . I asked my husband when I finished the call
“What? What are you talking about?”
“Finny’s driving permit, I’m going to take him to get it this weekend. He’ll only need his birth certificate right?”
“For all we know, they want a treatise on nuclear disarmament. Why don’t you just call them and ask.” was his annoyingly logical and obvious answer.
I called them. A few moments later, (13 minutes 23 seconds as shown on my phone) a lady answered with the nonsensical “BMV, can I help you?”
“Yes, could you please tell me what I need to bring in to get a drivers permit?”, I queried
“That information is on our website, ma’am, thank you for calling.” click
Sigh
I checked the website and dammit, the hubby was right again. They did want a treatise on nuclear disarmament. The list of documents required was daunting but I don’t daunt easily. And, lists, good god, I love them. Rather it’s better stated that checking things off a list is what I love. But I digress. I don’t daunt but I do digress.
I texted Phineas the list. After quite a few back and forths he managed to gather all that was required to prove his identity except for his social security card. His father didn’t have it. It’s at mom’s house she has it somewhere. his text said. Try to find it before our appointment Friday, was my reply. Our appointment was at 3:30pm Friday afternoon. Friday at noon, he texted me, Here’s the stuff I need. Can you print them? They won’t take digital copies. I can’t find the social security card but the website says a fishing license can be used instead. Is mine expired? It was. I had bought him one when he was 16 (an age when the government does not require proof of identity) but it was only for a year. At age eighteen you need to provide a government issued id to get a fishing license, and we needed a fishing license in order to get a government issued id. Having just renewed my fishing license, I remembered that my information was stored in their database and that all I had to do was key in the last four digits of my social security number to access my account and buy the license. It might work. I crossed my fingers and typed in the last four digits of his Social Security number. His information was still there! I bought it. By God, we’d done it. we’d turned the last corner of the maze and right there looking unusually scrumptious was the cheese.
We had all the stuff!
The Firm
Finny got his drivers permit. (I don’t wish to exceed Substack’s email size limitations decribing the visit. You’ve all been to a BMV. You know.)
All the Right Moves
“I’m excited for you Finny!” He was beaming as we walked towards my car in the BMV parking lot. “Wanna drive?” I asked as I held out the keys.
“No, I d—” he mumbled something unintelligible.
“What?”
“I don’t know how to drive. I’ve never driven.”
“Like never, for real? Not even practice in an empty parking lot?” Oh good lord, I thought to myself.
Sunday morning bright and early I hollered into Finny’s room. “Up and dressed, we’re leaving in ten minutes.”
I couldn’t understand a single thing he mumbled as he stumbled complaining out of his room. But he was ready in ten and we headed to the car.
“What are we doing?” he asked as he laid his head back against the seat
“You’ll see.” I knew he was already semi conscious so thats all I said as I drove to the nearby mall and it’s vast empty parking lot.
“Here you go.” I tapped the sleeping boy on the shoulder with the car keys.
“Wha? Huh?” He looked at the keys in my hand then around at the empty lot. “Really?”
“Really.” We switched places. Phineas was in the driver’s seat.
“What do I do?”
I explained. ( again email size limits)
He turned the key. The engine roared to life then died. He didn’t turn it long enough.
“Try again.” I nodded towards the ignition.
He turned the key. The engine roared to life followed by a horrid grinding sound. He’d turned it too long. He jerked his hand away in fright and the sound stopped
“Did I break it?”
“No, its still running, it just does that if you turn it too long.”
He slowly put the car in drive, took his foot off the brake and hit the gas.
We jerked forward and were speeding, no, careening towards the nearest light pole about a hundred yards away.
“Brake! Brake! BRAKE! Turn! Turn! TURN!” I was screaming and we’d only just begun.
He braked so hard, the seat belts locked to stop us as our bodies flew forward in our seats. We were stopped. I glance up expecting to see the light pole in front of us, but there it was next to us about a foot and a half from the driver’s door. He hadn’t hit the brake in time, but he had turned.
“It’s like Gran Turismo.” he laughed. “Im really good at Gran Turismo. This is fun!”
“Except if you wreck, you really wreck” I added. “And if you die, you…” I didn’t want to even think about it.
Phineas drove around the parking lot executing turns both too slowly and too fast, waaay too wide and waaay too tight. He pulled in and out of parking spaces, always backing into the imaginary cars behind him. I gave steady even instructions as he drove. After about forty minutes a few other cars started to appear. My nerves were tested as the road around the parking lot began to show signs of life. Still they were only a few and with my careful, calm, and measured instructions, I thought he could do it, and he did.
I was really proud of him and very proud of myself for not being overreactive and panicking at the slightest little thing. It’s funny how we view ourselves and how others view us. Divergent realities. We switched sides and I started to drive us home.
As soon as we were moving Phineas started talking.
“Slow down. That’s better. That’s better. Now speed up, yeah, yeah, good, good, goood! Turn right, no left, I meant left. Stop! See that other car? Stop, STOP, hit the brakes! BRAKE! Oh my GOD!”
Finny’s barrage of words confused me. I stopped suddenly wondering what the hell? Was there a car I didn’t see? He hung his head in despair slowly shaking it side to side. Then he peaked up at me and with a glint in the corner of his eye he started laughing.
“Was it really like that I asked?”
“Yep”
“Sorry, I’ll try harder next time.”
Days of Thunder
He really had done a decent job. It was his first time after all. I wanted to do more but we had been at it a while and he had to go back to his mom’s soon. We stopped for breakfast and headed home. On the way we passed a sign marking the entrance to a county park. It was a long narrow park with a two way road running the length of it. I had a thought. It was still Sunday morning and there wouldn’t be much traffic in the park; plus the parkway paralelled the regular road home. It would be a low risk way to give him a real driving experience. I turned the car around and headed into the park. Once there, I pulled off the side of the road and we switched drivers. He was scared, for real now. So was I but how else was he going to learn? He edged onto the roadway. The speed limit was 30mph.
“Try to keep it at 30, but don’t look down too much.”
He did well. I didn’t. I couldn’t help spewing instructions. My heart was pounding, every time an oncoming car passed, I closed my eyes. I was jelly. There was no shoulder or guardrail and a river rushed by right next to the road, on my side! The traffic was dense. Apparently, Sunday morning is no longer for family and church, it is for driving in the county park. As we approached the exit of the park I asked, “Is that enough?”
“Can I drive the rest of the way? I think I can.”
He was pumped. He was feeling the open road, the real one. His future was up ahead. The rest of the way involved four lane city streets, stop lights, and lane changes. It was only a mile or so to the house, all the traffic was in the park, and he WAS very good at Gran Turismo. I agreed.
Finny turned smoothly, slowly yet competently onto the city street. He was in the correct gear but I went into overdrive.
“This lane. Over to your left, too much! A little to you’re right. Stop! The light’s red. It’s RED. Don’t hit him. Give him some room. (pause to breathe) Ok, it’s green. Easy. Not to fast. That’s it! Your next turn’s coming up; a right turn just ahead. Not too wide. Now, straighten the wheel. You’re too close to those parked cars, no not that far away. Stay on your side. Ok, good.
We were coming to the busiest street on the route. The cars were whizzing by in both directions. It required a left turn with no traffic signal to assist him. Could he do it? I thought he could.
At the very last minute a hundred feet from the intersection I screamed.
“STOP! PULL OVER!” I was the one who couldn’t do it. We switched drivers and Phineas looked dejected.
“I’m sorry Phineas, I was just too scared. I think you could have done it, but I just… I just couldn’t. I think you did great but you need practice and you might have been distracted by my screams.”
“I think you should do driver’s ed. They don’t nag. I’ll pay for it.”
“Show me the Money!” he said with a grin.
Thanks to fellow STSC club member
for helping me out with the photo. I’m a dinosaur.This post is for another STSC member
he likes Tom Cruise movies.
Haha, love it! A risky rite of passage both for the driver and the teacher. My dad was my driver's ed teacher. One time I had to reverse out of a parking spot. I did a great job until I heard a crash. I reversed straight into the side of another car. That other car happened to be my boyfriend's car. Good times!
I was about Finny's age with mom the instructor, and my sister at sixteen had both of us helping her parallel park. Lucky we lived next to a street full of church parking lots, one with cones at the ready to simulate other cars.
Congrats to both of you! Also, every other sentence here is just a treat. Like Charles says, you feel safe in the hands of a stylist, and I easily trust you steering the prose ❤️