As a parent, teaching your teenager to drive feels like trusting a kangaroo with your car keys. Honestly, the kangaroo would be the safer option. I am teaching my daughter how to drive, which has become quite expensive. I have had to buy several L plates as they are like socks; you can only have one left at the end of the day. Also, add in hair appointments to keep dying my hair as it gets greyer each lesson, the bottles of wine to calm my nerves and avoid a heart attack or stroke after getting out of the car on very shaky legs.
The excitement on her face when I gave in and said, “OK, I’ve lived a full life; it’s time to teach you to drive,” was unbelievable. Jumping up and down and squealing excitedly made my heart race, and my nerves shot to pieces before I even got into the car. So, we start with our street (she has driven in a paddock before, even indicating in it), which is a relatively quiet street with nothing to worry about, or so I thought.
She judged the distance between an oncoming car perfectly; however, she seemed to forget that the parked cars also needed to be avoided. I’m screaming, “The car, you are going to hit the car!” She thinks it’s the oncoming car and is feeling confident in her driving ability and tells me, “To calm down, I’ve got heaps of room”, until she realises that was not the car I was screaming about and jams the break on, just missing the car, by a hair, slamming my head back against the headrest from the force of the stop, putting my neck out and calm as you like says “well I didn’t hit it so it’s not that deep.”
I won’t write my reply to that as this is a family magazine, but let’s say I went home, and the bottle of wine was finished before my hands stopped shaking. I do believe paid driving lessons are in order, as they will be cheaper than me spending 100 hours in the car, getting my nerves shot, and buying a defibrillator.