Driving Lessons

A decade and a half into my parenting journey, I have seen many milestones. The timeline is dotted with big ones everyone talks about like first steps, potty training, lost teeth and starting school. We've seen countless other moments, typically considered unworthy of celebration, but acknowledged as a necessary part of growing up--dealing with a bully, not making a team, friendship struggles, unrequited romance and the like.

Along the way I have read articles and sought wisdom for all sorts of seasons--sleep schedules, staying home alone, social media usage, dating, etc.  No one, however, prepared me for the defining moment(s) of teaching teenagers to drive.

Sure, there are countless personal stories about arguing, the fake brake pedals all parents seem to pantomime and the curbs, mailboxes and other common objects that suddenly seem to be out for you. But the last 9 weeks of driving instruction with my trio have become a glaring metaphor for the transition to adulthood happening under my roof.

Our situation is exacerbated by teaching three 15-year-olds simultaneously as they start high school. Additionally, the Georgia state requirement of 30 educational hours and 40 hours in-the-seat practical driving hours (multiplied times three) have truly made this the Summer of driving. I cannot avoid the flashing lights telling me they are growing up and are far closer to launching into the world than seems possible.

We are steadily checking the boxes for the practical requirements, but no one warned me about the shift handing keys to a powerful machine represents. The decisions these partially developed brains are making in a split second can take them places, but they can also cause serious harm.

Each time one of my kids takes the keys (and my spot in the driver's seat), I follow by entering the passenger's side. I hold my breath for a second and struggle through an internal dialogue of mental preparation:

Here we go. I have required that they complete the 30 hour class. They have studied and passed the state designed tests for learners' permits. This is the next phase. They have to DO it. After all these years of driving, my role now is to coach.

This is the sucker punch: I am there with the knowledge, maturity, experience and concern for caution--but their feet are on the pedals and their hands control the steering wheel. I have my voice, but the power and control is essentially in their hands.

Sure, I can demand they pull over. I can take away the keys. (In terms of full disclosure, I have had to do both.) But if they are to learn, I have to eventually hand them back. There is risk all along the way to learning.

I am also finding that the intensity of teaching a teenager to drive amplifies the nature of your relationship--especially to challenging parts. The overconfident adolescent becomes even moreso. The independent challenger has a harder time heeding instruction. The anxious one with some attention deficit issues can be terrifying.

The approval that most teenagers long for from their parents becomes as challenging as it is necessary. In times of high stress, words can become terse and cautionary correction overrides positive affirmation.  Keeping us all safe in the car and preserving our relationship in the process reminds me why all the early days of pouring into these relationships matter.

My fear exposes my sinful tendencies. I am a word girl who rarely depends on a curse word to convey my point--but there have been a few moments of pure terror that have caused what lies beneath to be shouted aloud. 

As I struggle with letting go of control and surrendering my fear to a trustworthy God, I have been reminded that I need Jesus as much as ever.

Riding shotgun is a powerful metaphor for my emotional position as we enter the last stage of parenting kids under our roof.

They don't own the car yet.
Their licenses are merely provisional.
They increasingly have lots of power for good or harm.
My control is diminishing. 
My trust must increase. 
They still need my voice.

Pardon my ill-timed pun, but this is where the rubber meets the road.

The thrill of independence is breathing down our necks. It is amazing to watch these young adults rise to the occasion. Perhaps no one warned me because nothing can truly prepare you for the experience.

Next Summer, they are scheduled to receive their solo licenses and I won't be in the passenger seat anymore--but for the next 9 1/2 months I am. So I pray for the patience, wisdom and endurance to steward the time well.


To everything there is a season. 
Lessons to be taught and learned. 
And a Father to be trusted.
Here we go!