I’m thinking I’m not cut out to be a driving instructor. The sixteen year old is finally venturing into the chapter of the parenting manual entitled “This is Where it Starts to Get Scary”.  A couple of weeks ago, he had his first driving lesson.

“Well, how did it go?” I asked the driving instructor as he delivered the new driver to be to the doorstep.   He was seated in the passenger’s seat of the car, looking surprisingly calm, all things considered.

“Well,” he started, thoughtfully.  I could see he was gathering his thoughts, trying to come up with something positive to say.  It’s the old sandwich theory.  Start with something positive, squeeze the opportunity for change into the middle and then end with something encouraging once again.  It's a great concept.  One I'm still struggling to master.

“He did well, for the first time,” he said in a measured voice.  “He does, however, have a bit of a lead foot.”

Oh.

“Now what?” I asked.

“Now you go and practice.”

“Practice?”  The word reverberated in my brain.  Practice?  As in one of us has to take him out driving again?

“But don’t you have special equipment in that car?” I asked, peeking over his shoulder.  I imagined his vehicle was a specially designed highly technical, military issue transport with steel sides, bullet-proof windshields and more safety features than anyone could imagine.  A sort of cross between a Fred Flinstone "flintmobile" and a M1 Abrams, the ideal training tool for teaching young testosterone laden teenagers to maneuver 3500 pounds of molded metal at high speeds down narrow lanes in close proximity to other 3500 pound matchboxes in varying atmospheric conditions.

“Is there, like, an extra steering wheel perhaps, or an extra brake or even better, an eject button that you can push if things get really bad?”

“I have a brake,” he said, nonchalantly.

“Just a brake?  Is that all?”

“Don’t worry.  It will be fine.  Other parents do it.”

Oh sure, and some even live to tell about it.

So today we went for a drive to Costco.

I buckled myself into the passenger side of the car and took a few deep, Lamaze-like, cleansing breaths as Mario Andretti junior backed out of the driveway.

“Slowly,” I cautioned him.  “G-o s-l-o-w-l-y.”

He edged down the driveway and out onto the street.  We approached the first stop sign not 50 yards from the safety zone.  “Brake!” I yelled as I slammed my right foot down on the floor.

Mario braked.

“Now pay attention to your speed,” I cautioned him as we wound our way through the back streets to town.  “The speed limit drops here.  The police are always looking to catch people.”  And I pressed down hard once again, on that imaginary brake.

“Now watch for people stepping out into the crosswalk,” I advised.  “You never know when someone might decide to cross the street, jonesing for a grande, non-fat, vanilla soy latte.   People do stupid things when they need caffeine.“

Mario was silent.  He scanned the sidewalk and inched ever so slowly though the center of town.  A stop sign appeared.  The foot hit the floor again.  Where was that damned emergency brake?

“OK now, turn slowly into the parking lot.  Slowly,” I repeated, just for good measure.

Mario turned, slowly.   OK so far.  We're almost there.

And then it happened.  A guy in a blue mini-van drove toward us, searching for a parking space.

“Stop!” I shouted.

Mario did not stop.

“Stop, stop, stop!” Thump, thump, thump went my right foot.

No dice.  Mario was off the script.  This was no time to be improvising.  Instead of stopping, he turned left and headed for the nearest parking spot.  Fortunately for us, blue mini-van saw him.

I started to yell.  “I SAID STOP!  WHEN I SAY STOP I MEAN STOP!"  And then, without warning, the floodgates opened and a river of anxiety, fear and dread came gushing out. "DID YOU HEAR ME? I SAID STOP! Youcan’texpecttheotherdriverisgoingtostop.Youcan’tbesurethatheseesyou. Youhavetowatch.Youhavetodrivedefensively.Youhavetobecareful……”

Bad idea.  Breathe.  Deep Lamaze breathes.

OK.  So it was a slight overreaction.  I mean, he didn’t get into an accident.  It wasn’t even close.   In fact, all in all, he had done a pretty good job.  And most of all, he stayed calm under pressure.

I wish the same could be said for his copilot.  Practice makes perfect.