I told you I would write about it. Well, here it is…
As you know, son number one turned 16 recently, and in our house that means it is time to get a driver’s license.
Today’s teens are different. I remember turning 16, and I did not get my license until six months later. My parent’s told me they had to get some type of therapy before they could let me behind the wheel.
Talk about a vote of NO confidence.
Well, our son number one received his permit last December and has been driving every since.
I must admit I felt pretty confident when it was time to take him to the driver’s exam. My husband and I made a family outing out of it.
That is the way it goes with the first child. The parents are so excited. In our case, my husband took the day off work, and we all drove down to the exam together.
On the way down there, we gave him advice, prayed with him, asked him some traffic law questions, prayed some more. Finally, we pulled into the exam parking lot. I felt a lump in my throat. I said one more prayer.
All three of us walked into the office together as I pulled out my camera and readied for a picture of our son going to the car with his driver examiner.
Some watching may have thought we were a bit crazy, pictures and all, but hey, you only get to do this once.
Oh, that’s right. I have three more boys. Oh well, you know how that goes. The novelty wears off. By the time son number four is ready to get his license, we will probably argue over who has to be the one to take him to get it.
Just kidding.
As son number one pulled out of the parking lot to take his driving exam, I noticed four more teen drivers pulling out as well. I found myself gravitating toward the other four mothers who had brought their children.
“I made my son wait until 18 to get his license,” one mother mentioned.
“Oh, I paid for my child to take behind the wheel classes with a certified teacher, to make sure she was ready,” boasted another mom.
All of a sudden, I started feeling a little worried. My husband and I taught our son ourselves. We practiced a lot, but we surely did not get a “certified teacher.” And our son was not 18 or 17; he was 16 and had just turned 16.
Another mom mentioned how Missouri is tough to get a license and how she made sure he child was ready, ready, ready.
After about 20 minutes, the drivers started coming back. I saw one child being talked to in the car for a few moments by the examiner. Then the mother who waited until her son was 18 went out to meet him.
Right after that, the child who had the “certified teacher” got out of the car and the mother went to meet him.
I saw the other two children come back as well, but my son was not back yet.
I saw something else: all four of those teenagers were headed back to their cars with their mothers … with their heads down. They DID NOT pass!
Yikes. I felt a slight fever coming on.
Suddenly, my son drove into the parking lot. The instructor talked to him for what seemed like an eternity. My husband and I could not stop staring at them.
“What do you think?” I asked my husband as our son and the instructor were approaching the exam office.
“I don’t know, I can’t read his face.”
They came through the door, and we held our breath, as son number one said …
“I passed.”
Whew! We were so relieved.
He took his picture, which he had to stoop down to do because he was too tall, received his license and headed home, with him driving.
“It’s so free to drive!” son number one exclaimed.
“No, it’s not; our insurance just went up hundreds of dollars,” I mentioned.
Thanks for sharing.