As I write, our younger son is about to turn 16 years old.
We have an appointment at the Bonny Oaks Driver Services Center late on the afternoon of his birthday (Oct. 26) to take his driver’s license road test. (Note to self: Windex the windshield.)
Our son already has two pickup trucks standing by to drive, a 1973 Ford F350 and a 2004 Ford Ranger. The ’73 is a heirloom that family members pitched in to help him buy. The Ranger is a daily driver with a loud exhaust that needs body work.
I gave him a loan to buy the Ranger, and he’s paying me back as he can — $100 here, $100 there from dog sitting and working on his grandparents’ farm. We keep up with the loan balance on a scrap of paper on the refrigerator door. I taped it up at eye level so he can be reminded me how much he owes me every time he gets a cup of Mayfield ice cream.
If you are 16, I imagine waiting to drive your “trucks” without parental supervision is like torture. He has been counting down the days to his birthday.
“Getting your driver’s license must seem like Christmas,” I said the other day.
“Better than Christmas,” he corrected.
I can see that. He’s been itching for driving independence for years.
Sometimes he tries to jump the gun.
“I could just slip over to Dollar General real quick and get some brownie mix. Save you a trip,” he’ll say at 9:30 at night.
“No thanks,” I’ll say. “Just thinking about that can get your trucks impounded.”
“Oh,” he’ll say. “Well, we won’t do that then, will we?”
One Sunday we drove out to the Bonny Oaks area just to get the lay of the land. He practiced parking in the lot and driving around in about a half-mile radius of the Driver Services Center.
Some of his friends have told him the driving test at Bonny Oaks is harder than the one given in nearby Jasper. It’s funny for me to hear him talk about it. “Bonny Oaks” and “Jasper” were not even in his vocabulary until a few weeks ago.
On our field trip to Bonny Oaks, we talked about things that could trip him up on the driver test: Forgetting to buckle his seat belt, failing to set his turn signal before a lane change, ignoring a railroad crossing.
“I feel better now that I know where this place is,” he said afterward.
“Good,” I allowed. “Feeling comfortable is half the battle.”
We also talked about how to react if the driving test goes bad.
“It just means I’ll have to drive you to school for at least a couple more weeks,” I said. “I won’t mind.”
“I know,” he said. “It won’t be the end of the world.”
When your youngest child gets his or her driver’s license it’s a bittersweet day. The nest is not quite empty, but it’s closer.
Parental transportation is like an umbilical cord. Once the cord is cut, there’s no going back to the pickup and drop-off routine that’s existed at our house for over 20 years. I’ve always enjoyed those minutes of conversation in the car with our sons. Boys talk more when they aren’t making eye contact. (Except for the time I tried to tell our firstborn son about “birds and bees” in the car and heard him snoring halfway through my lecture.)
Oh, well. The circle of life is what it is.
Sooner or later, a parent’s happiness has to come from observing — not participating in — the happiness of their children.
And there’s nothing happier than a 16-year-old boy with a full heart and a full tank of gas.
(Postscript: He passed the road test with a perfect score on Wednesday, Oct. 26, and drove himself to school on Thursday.)
Contact Mark Kennedy at mkennedy@timesfreepress.com or 423-645-8937.