They call it a driver’s license. With this license, you are legally allowed to drive. It does not specify in the rules where you can drive. You can drive wherever you want. To the store. To Alaska. Running guns to rebels in Central America. They leave that up to you. The license gives you the freedom to move, as long as you have an instrument of movement. A vehicle.
To get this license, you must first take a test. This test will quiz you on all the keys to successful driving. It is like a mythical quest. It might be the toughest, most demanding, most psychologically grueling thing you ever do. Well, after childbirth, your first day of kindergarten, the SATs, the time you got caught with a cigarette and that time you fit the giant jawbreaker into your mouth and had to go to the ER so they could remove it with surgical tongs.
To pass this test, you must show a mastery of driving, including how to park on an incline. Forget that this seems kind of absurd because you live in a flat state where there hasn’t been an incline since 1952. That’s when someone decided to build a hill. Everyone’s ears popped from the elevation and they bulldozed it the next day. It’s been flat ever since.
Anyway … the point is these tests are a big deal. You taken them when you turn 16. This is an important age in society because it represents the year when you are, coincidentally, also the same age that scientifically you are guaranteed to make the worst decisions of your entire life. It isn’t your fault. It’s something about hormones or puberty or brain development. Maybe it’s the fact that your diet subsists of only breakfast cereal.
Whatever it is, the state thinks this is the ideal age to give you the test that will decide if you get the license that will permit you to drive and got out into the world where you could crash into us. You! The one whose single ambition is to see if you can stay in bed long enough each day to just ride it right on through the night.
People like you, my 16-year-old daughter.
So, to ready you for this trial, parents like us embark on our own preparative tests. We develop grueling, mentally-draining, patience-annihilating challenges designed to not only get you ready for your big day, but also to frustrate you so much that you swear off driving forever. That you scream: “I hate you! You’re so frustrating and embarrassing and you just want to boss me around. Well, I’m not doing it. And I’m never going to drive in my life. Nor am I getting married or trying booze or going to parties in Ibiza or running guns to rebels. There! Happy? See what you’ve done?” This is the way a parent thinks.
So, we parents won’t make driving an act of fun or freedom, and certainly not independence, but instead a living hell. There will be many lectures: “Driving is a privilege. And your ancestors – the ones who lived in caves and wore beaver skins as loin cloths – never got that privilege because they didn’t pass the driver’s test. They didn’t respect the SANCTITY of parallel parking! That’s why they had to hunt with spears and speak in grunts.”
There will be tense drills: “OK, see this fire truck next to the house on fire? Do a 3-point-turn right in front of them.” There will be surprises: “At some point on this drive I’m going to test your reaction skills by … YELLING STOPPPPPP!!!!”
There will be tow-trucks and trips to the autobody shop.
There will meaningful explanations – “It’s called a three-point turn because if I have to point at more than three things you almost hit, you’re done!”
Tears, by both parties. Foul language not for the faint of heart. Spiritual epiphanies. Shouting contests. Trips to the law firm to inquire about childhood emancipation. And if lucky, a donut run.
It will be the most terrifying, demanding, stressful, agonizing and painful event you have ever taken. And it will make the actual driver’s test seem like a piece of cake.
You’re welcome!
The big day will come. The test will be ready. A person, possibly with a clipboard, will administer it. The trial will begin and the quest embarked upon. You will either pass or fail. Life will begin, or you’ll realize it was a mistake to get out of bed. For the victor, independence will come in the form of a shiny card with your picture on it. Big dreams will come with it. Maybe freedom and a career as a gun-runner. But you sure better know how to park on an incline, even if you do live in Florida!