Driving Miss Daisy

Hubs has been teaching DD#1 to drive. He’s good at it. He taught me (before we were married), my sister (after we were married), and DS#1. He’s patient. He doesn’t bombard you with directions but kind of lets you feel your own way.

Me? I’m a white-knuckle passenger, although I mask it fairly well.

Last night I picked up DS#2 from Youth Ministry and headed over to the Community College to pick up DD#1 from her evening class. I took the minivan—the only car that’s an automatic. I’m not sure why I did that. I’m not sure why, either, when DD#1 got to the car, I said, “Do you want to drive home?”

DS#2 responds, “Hey! I’m only 15! I don’t want to die yet!”

On the ride home I discovered a couple of things:

Hubs is losing his nerve. He doesn’t let DD#1 drive over 20 mph.

He hasn’t taken her on the freeway yet.

She hates the way he has the mirrors arranged as much as DS#1 and I do.

She actually appreciates tips I gave her about the driving test and what the examiner will look for. (“Look over your shoulder. Make sure you adjust your mirrors before you start out because they look for that. Use your turn signal even if you’re in the left-turn-only lane.”)

Meanwhile, DS#2 kept up a round of chatter that was annoying, to say the least.

“Look,” DD#1 finally said, “you’re not only in the backseat, you haven’t even had Driver’s Ed yet. So KEEP QUIET!”

I had to back the minivan into the driveway when we got home, however. Especially since the truck was on the other side. We’ll save that lesson—and the freeway—for daylight hours.