Learning to Drive (February 2009)

My daughter turned 15 in November.

Now, generally, when I tell people that, they get a pinched-up look on their faces that reveals a combination of relief (“thank goodness it’s not me”) and fear (“what kind of car did you say you drive again?”).

Driving with my daughter and working to teach her the finer arts of driving, I am reminded oft times of my own lessons in driving.

Growing up in north rural Alabama, I was given the opportunity to drive at a young age. The age gets younger depending on how deep in the story I am, but, the truth is, I probably first got behind the wheel of a pick-up truck along about the age of 12.

My friends and I would tear around the dirt roads, and my father would allow me to jump in the truck to run up the road to pick up this or that.

My official driving lessons actually took place at the abandoned Courtland Air Base. My dad would teach me the delicate art of handling a stick shift automobile.

The good news is that most of my early driving experience was spent on the straightaways of the country. There was the occasional light. There was the random stop sign. But, basically, everything was fairly straightforward. The bad news is that I was ill prepared for what was to come.

That’s the advantage my daughter has today. She is learning in a much more challenging environment.

The issue at hand with teaching my 15-year-old daughter how to drive is not my daughter. After starting out a little wobbly, she is actually a good driver.

She is conscientious.

She comes to a complete stop at stop signs.

She uses her turn signal.

She drives the speed limit.

No, the issue at hand and what makes me the most nervous about teaching her how to drive is getting her to understand just how stupid most people are behind the wheel of a car.

How do you teach your 15-year-old to drive in this environment? A simple rule – assume everyone else is an idiot.

I can remember the first time I passed this wisdom along to her not too soon after she received her driver’s permit. She was flabbergasted. “You mean that these people took tests – written and driving – and still can’t drive well?” Yes, that’s exactly what it means.

We were driving down Overbrook toward our church. Now, Overbrook presents a number of challenges. It’s a narrow, winding two-lane road with a steep drop-off on one side and driveways and mailboxes lining the other. There is no shoulder to speak of and, thus, no real room for error.

As she was making her way slowly to church, we were shocked to see someone coming right at us in our lane. They had apparently passed a bicyclist and had just failed to move back over into their lane.

Even the most experienced driver can see the predicament here. We couldn’t pull over. We dare not get in the other lane. So we did what we could – honked, flashed our lights, slowed to a crawl, and braced for impact.

At the last moment, they realized the error of their ways and corrected, giving us a nice “I’m sorry I almost killed us all” wave. Thanks.

Since that time, she and I have developed a short-hand method of identifying these people. We call it the “DA Alert.”

Some examples (feel free to use them as you wish or add your own):

DA Alert: Drivers see most traffic signals and traffic signs as recommendations or suggestions.

DA Alert: No one drives the speed limit. Do you know what the speed limit is on Overton? 30 miles an hour. Try driving the exact speed limit sometime. I dare you. My daughter has been tailgated, honked at, given the finger, and passed in a no-passing zone.

DA Alert: Turn signal, what turn signal? This is Alabama, dadgummit, it’s none of your business where I’m going.

DA Alert: I get to go first at a four-way stop because: a) I have the bigger car; b) I am talking on the phone or c) I am yelling at and/or beating my children.

DA Alert: Is it really that difficult to park in between the lines? Our own experience shows that some of the worst offenders are in front of Magic Muffins and Blockbuster. It is not unusual to see someone park in front of Magic Muffins and take up two spots. They leave their car running to let everyone know: “No, I’m not a self-centered, arrogant idiot. See, I left my car running.” Or, in front of Blockbuster, they will literally parallel park across perpendicular spaces.

The scary part? My daughter and I haven’t even ventured onto the area’s busiest highways. Oh, well, nothing ventured, nothing gained.