essay

Ruling the Road

“Okay. Accelerator, brake, accelerator, brake,” my 15-year-old repeats to herself as her right foot pivots—right, left, right—doing its reminder toe-tap routine before she puts the car in gear. Ideally that gear will be reverse (with her foot on the brake), given that there’s a big brick wall about 20 inches in front of us, but “reverse” and “drive,” accelerator and brake, the opposing poles that my inner-Mario Andretti orients to without a second thought, now, with a novice driver behind the wheel, require a second thought. Maybe a third. Road Mama Rule #1: Assume nothing. ­­ 

I’m new at this Driver’s Ed gig, and I’m not sure Mom-as-co-pilot is my preferred position. After 15 years of parenthood­, I’m quite comfortable being in the driver’s seat; control is my automatic transmission, the gear I naturally slip into. But funny thing about my daughter’s new DMV-issued Learner’s Permit, with her high-mileage smile radiant beneath the glossy laminate— it didn’t come with a corresponding Teacher’s Permit. No one checked my driving record (meticulous though it is), no one ran a criminal background check to see if I’m transporting contraband, using a young kid at the wheel as my foil. No one assessed my mental state to determine if I had the requisite patience, automotive aptitude and moral fortitude needed to hand over the keys. I can swirl a three-point turn on any road anywhere, but steering an inexperienced young driver in the right direction is another maneuver altogether. Forget being worried about getting in a wreck; I am a wreck. Road Mama Rule #2: I am not in control.

After several months of jaw-clenching “practice” excursions, I have a new appreciation for the fact that driving is probably “the most complex thing we do in our everyday lives,” as Tom Vanderbilt, the author of Traffic: Why We Drive the Way We Do, observes. In my usual role as driver and/or chauffeur, I zoom through errands on auto-pilot, a zoned-out driver who thinks nothing of putting on lip gloss, excavating my purse for the damn cell phone or sipping coffee and jotting notes while headed to the grocery store. On any given day, not only am I cruising at 40 mph through chaotic intersections where I could potentially encounter 56 “points of conflict,” i.e. accidents, according to traffic engineers who calculate such things, I’m doing so while totally engrossed in listening to Eat, Pray, Love, my mind more on sexy Italian men than danger lurking at the stop light. My car is my escape vehicle, in more ways than one, and in it I’m an alert zombie, relying on instinctual habits—routine checks of my rear-view mirror, the quick glance over my left shoulder before merging—actions that indicate I’m aware despite unawareness of performing them. Until, of course, I buckle in beside my daughter, who I swear only recently (or so it seems) ditched the other training wheels. Now I’m hyper aware; I’m overdrive aware. Now here we go again, crossing another major intersection on the road to growing up. Road Mama Rule #3: Look both ways. Twice.

In preparation for the upcoming test, my novice roadster is flipping through the South Carolina Drivers Manual, diligently memorizing the nittygritty rules (“signal a turn at least 100 feet before turning,” “no parking within 50 feet of a railroad crossing”) that have long since slipped into my subconscious. The chapter on “Signs, Signals and Markers” with its yellow diamonds and every-which-a-way arrows flashes me back to studying for my own driver’s test, and all the grown-up status and newfound freedom that was riding on it. Now however, I’m more convinced than ever that safe, smart driving is more a matter of Zen than accurately estimating one-car length for every 10 mph speed you’re driving (the DMV-determined distance to keep between you and the car in front of you). The rules this Road Mama keeps reiterating to her hot-wheels daughter apply equally on the road and off. Pay Attention. Don’t Be in a Hurry. Give the Other Guy Some Room. Watch Your Blind Spot.Like many people, I thought it was an ironic joke when the Pope, the never-at-the-wheel, always-waving passenger of the Popemobile, issued his “Pastoral Care of the Road” decree last summer, responding to his observation that “Cars tend to bring out the primitive side of human beings.” So let’s just ignore the Church’s sexual abuse epidemic and its continued dismissal of women and gays, the “10 Commandments of Driving” will surely get the world on track, I sneered, but now I’ve repented and I’m on board (at least with the Driving part). I particularly appreciate commandment #3: “Courtesy, uprightness and prudence will help you deal with unforeseen events;” and the cottony verbiage of #6: “Charitably convince the young and not-so young not to drive when they are not in a fit condition to do so.” But mostly I like the elegance and wisdom of commandment #2: “The road shall be for you a means of communion between people...”

And it is for my daughter and me. With the road before us, we’re learning to communicate and trust in new and challenging ways. Yes, I’m holding my breath. I’m saying my prayers. And I’m clinging (with white knuckles) to the Road Mama Rule of All Rules: Have Faith in Your Daughter. Let her learn at her own speed—as long as it’s not over 25 mph.

Stephanie Hunt is a freelance writer in Mt. Pleasant, SC, where she drives a dirty  Toyota minivan with a faded skirt! bumper sticker on the rear bumper. Honk if you  see her. And please, call 911 if you catch her daughter speeding, and/or contact her  at www.stephaniehuntwrites.com.

~Stephanie Hunt