Henry is taking his driving test. I am in the back seat because for some reason they make a parent come along these days, and I lost the coin flip with the lovely yet formidable Marcia.
“Better you than me,” she said. “I’d be so nervous I’d cry.”
I’m not crying but I’m jumpy, to be sure. It’s nerve-wracking to watch your kid take a test or play a game or act in a play or make his argument at a debate.
Because you want so badly for them to do well. Or, at least, to not fail. Because that would be awful. For him and for you. Which is why, at some point during whatever they’re doing, you have to suppress the urge to jump out there and do it with them. It’s why you see parents mouthing words during solos. Or pumping their arms at a race. Or moving invisible chess pieces in time with their kid.
It’s tough.
Plus, during driver tests, they don’t let you talk.
They really don’t. I’d forgotten that. You have to sit there in the back seat and say nothing while your baby – this (in my eyes) 5-year-old boy who has no business piloting a two-ton vehicle – takes his precious life and my equally precious SUV out on the road amongst all of you road jerks.
Ok, yes, I realize not ALL of you are road jerks. I’m sure a few of you very nice people, in fact, and possibly even capable drivers.
But when your kid is taking his driving test and you’re in the back seat, on guard, everyone is a road jerk – a potential threat to his life, his limbs, and my insurance rates.
And I can’t warn him about any of you. I can’t say, “Watch out for that jerk waiting to pull out from the Kroger whose nose is sticking into your lane.”
I can’t say “When you merge on the freeway, watch out for jerks who speed up so you don’t get in front of them.”
I can’t say, “You see how that jerk is drifting over the lane line – she’s either drunk or texting. Hang back and let her go.”
I can’t say any of that. I can only sit here silently, listening to my internal dialogue, which sounds like this:
“Ohmygod, why did he back in like that?”
“Does he see that guy who’s gonna pull in front of him?”
“The arrow’s green, is he ever gonna go? C’mon, go! Go!”
OK, yes, I probably shouldn’t have had those two cups of coffee before I agreed to this. But, still, this isn’t going well. The tester lady seems to be making a lot of check marks. I don’t think he’s going to pass! This is ridiculous – how’s the kid supposed to drive without my brilliant advice? If only they’d let me talk!
Then, suddenly, the test is over and tester lady says to Henry, “You only got an 8 …”
Eight? See, I knew it. He failed.
“Twenty-five or more is a fail,” she continues. “So you pass. Good job. You’re a very smooth driver.”
I knew it all along.
Matt Wyneken says
Thanks Andy. Reading this I felt like I was in the back seat with you – whew!
There are these special moments in life when one can congratulate oneself on having done one’s duty in raising the next generation. Give yourself and Marcia a big pat on the back, from all of us.
Andrew Heller says
The thing is, it was me not me. I was really overwrought. He drives much, much better than his score indicated.
Tina says
I was in the backseat for my son’s driving test & it was VERY nerve-wracking! My head was down the entire time! I may have looked up once or twice to see where we were, but after a quick glance, it was back down again! I wish my husband wouldn’t have been working during his test because I would have made him go instead of me!
Jim says
I think both my kids were more nervous because I was in the back seat!
Andrew Heller says
I needed a gag. I was biting my tongue the whole time and kicking his seat when he was going too fast – sort of a dad morse code. I should have included that detail. Turns out, Henry didn’t even realize I was doing it.
Loren M says
Andy, I think my stepdad did ride along on my test in 1976. The horn on his Mustang didn’t work so I pulled the wires and superglued them below the dash then touched them together surreptitiously when I pushed the horn for the safety test and they stuck a second longer than I intended which raised her eyebrows. Then I did nearly 35 in a 25 mainly because I was nervous.
Also because the passenger door latch was broken I reset it in the jamb with my thumb and left it ajar before she got in. When she got out and slammed the door it bounced back open and I quickly reset it then closed it. I thought for sure I had just failed but the lady gave my stepfather, Leon, a stern look and said, “Anyone that can drive this piece of junk deserves a license!”
Andrew Heller says
It’s really changed. I don’t recall having a driving test, although I’m sure I did. In Escanaba, though, there’s little traffic, and no freeway to merge onto, which made it easier.
Loren M says
Holly was probably just as backwater as Escanaba when I had to go to Fenton to test (which didn’t have a fast food place yet either and maybe one more traffic light)
Andrew Heller says
It was indeed. Still is in many ways, and I mean that in the good sense. I love Escanaba and its “away from all the nonsense” feel.