Three of our grands have their learner’s permits, but somehow, I seem to be the one receiving instructions on how to drive.
“You probably should have waited ’til that car passed,” advises our oldest daughter, as I pull into traffic. She’s my front seat passenger and mother of twins with permits.
“Excuse me? I pulled out just fine, thank you. And, by the way, I’m not the one with ‘Please Be Patient: Student Driver’ bumper stickers plastered all over my vehicle.”
I always wondered who put those stickers on their cars. Now I know. She’s sitting next to me, scrutinizing my every move. I won’t be surprised when she pulls out a clipboard and begins taking notes.
“Brake!” she snaps.
“Seriously, girl? You’re going to tell me how to drive? Even your father knows not to do that.”
“Well, I’m teaching two teenagers to drive, so I’m practically like a real driver’s ed instructor now.”
Sure she is.
“I taught you to drive, didn’t I?” I ask.
“No,” she says. “Dad did. Remember, you taught J to drive, so neither of us girls wanted you as a teacher.”
Great. I know where she’s going. One time, one time. OK, maybe two or three times. “But I taught your brother to drive a stick shift in a Ford F-150,” I say.
“Yeah, and every time he killed the engine you punched him in the arm.”
“It was reflex,” I say.
I come from a long line of impatient driving teachers. My grandfather tried to teach my mother to drive a stick shift. She got in, shut the door, started it up, let out the clutch and killed it. “Lesson over,” my grandpa said. He got out, slammed the door and my mother didn’t learn to drive until she got married.
I’m not sure the kids need to know that story. Come to think of it, they absolutely do not need that story.
My driver’s ed instructor and I grab fast food for lunch and use the drive thru. Two very long lines wrap around the building and then merge to exit.
“Zipper, Mom. Zipper.”
“I’m going to merge,” I say.
“No, you zipper. The car in that lane goes, then our lane goes. You know, like a zipper.” She holds up her hands demonstrating how two sides of a zipper go together.
I may have gotten my license in the last century, but I don’t need hand motions explaining how a zipper works. What I might need are stickers on the back of the vehicle saying, “Please Be Patient: Dueling Driver’s Ed Instructors in Vehicle.”
For the record, I merged then, I merge now and will continue to merge.
