Once upon a
time there was a little tyke who loved playing with toy cars…and trucks…and
trains…basically anything with wheels, that he could push around the living
room, over the furniture, into his brother, or what have you. I’d have to say
his attention to all things vehicle-related peaked with his Thomas the Tank
Engine obsession, which lasted for several intense years during which his
loyalty was apparent all over our house, in product form (books, clothing,
sheets, sippy cups…etc.) and of course best represented by the model train
layout that occupied a place of honor in the boys’ play space.
Now, for many
kids, this early childhood fascination matures and develops into an interest in
the mechanics of stuff, or just an overall passion for automobiles. But for
Riley—except for a continued fondness for locomotives—it just kind of stayed behind,
like a part of his younger self. Which is a long-winded way of saying that
(like his older sibling before him) when it came time to actually, you know,
learn to operate a car, he reacted with…let’s call it a lukewarm
reception.
I mean, sure,
he got his Learner’s Permit and started logging the required practice sessions.
But for him, it’s always seemed like more of a chore than an enjoyable
goal. In fact, there were stretches in the beginning when he (or one of his
parents) would realize that weeks had somehow slipped by without him
getting behind the wheel for some training, and we’d hustle to schedule…a tune-up,
if you will.
Eventually, Riley
recognized the problem: he got bored seeing the same roads over and over
again…and there are only so many fake errands you can make up, in order
to get out of the house. (Imagine, he wanted to have an actual reason
to GO SOMEWHERE, rather than the journey being the purpose…or whatever.
The nerve of him…) Add to that the demands of his Junior year, and it
created a recipe for…well, not making a whole lot of progress towards
those elusive 60 hours.
So, his 16th birthday came and went, and we found ourselves nowhere close to being
ready for the next step…which kind of acted as a catalyst to kick us all
into a higher gear. (Ha! I am ON FIRE with the car puns today, y’all…) We
started grinding out the trips—scraping up 30 minutes around town by taking
winding routes rather than the most efficient path from Point A to Point B; working
in the Costco run, which adds up to an hour there and back; and finally
allowing him to take a shift on the December Maryland excursion, since he felt
ready to conquer the interstates (and we agreed).
Honestly,
though, if you left Husband in charge Riley probably would have reached the
target much sooner, because I swear, the number of times I had to vehemently
veto his questionable Dad Advice to…ahem…”fudge the numbers”…was
significant. For example: “Whew, that was a long one--just write down 2
hours, I’m sure that’s close!”…for a quick jaunt to the nearest grocery
store. Okay, okay, I may be exaggerating a smidge…but I did
catch him recommending the old “rounding method” on more than one
occasion, and had to nip it in the bud. He was…mostly kidding…but that stuff’s
not gonna fly if you try to slip it past a rigid rule-follower such as moi. (So
yeah, you see what I’m dealing with here, right? I’m telling ya, managing Team
WestEnders is a full time job, folks…)
Finally, of
course, the magic number was reached…and then it became a super-fun
game of “Ugh, now we have to brave the cursed DMV to take the
test.” Unfortunately, the planets didn’t align for us to make the attempt
during Riley’s holiday break from school, which added the extra wrinkle of “how
do I convince this young man, who’s generally 100% opposed to missing even a
minute of class, to commit a weekday morning to this task”? Surprisingly, he
was immediately on-board, however. I suppose by this point he was motivated
enough to want to get it done, so he deemed it an acceptable trade-off for a
few hours (hopefully) of postponed academic activities.
I even tried
to reach the department ahead of time to set up an appointment, which is
something they (theoretically) allow you to do. But when I finally got someone
to answer the phone (on the 7th call), they informed me that their
next available slot was in…late April. Um…no thanks? I guess we’ll take
our chances with the %$#@ line…siiiighhh. So Riley and I settled on a
mutually acceptable, parentally approved “skip day” to get this done. As
fate would have it, a friend happened to take her daughter earlier in the week
for the same thing, so she had valuable insight to share, which mostly
consisted of “get there waaaay before they open, to snag a good spot in
the queue.” Noted!
Really,
though, it turns out that I got off easy, because Husband—the
notorious “morning person” in this dynamic—offered to take the first
stint. (Assuming the worst, that this would wind up being a multi-hour
ordeal. Meanwhile, I pledged to be totes supportive in spirit…while sitting
in my pjs in the warm house drinking coffee. Go get ‘em, guys!)
Therefore, I
was still asleep when they headed over to the local branch—where they
reportedly hung around outside for 40 minutes or so before even breaching the
front door to take a number and begin the REAL wait. And I held down the home
fort, with bated breath, sending good luck vibes out into the universe, and
hoping for cheerful news…or at least updates on the proceedings.
It was around
9:30 when Husband texted to let me know that Riley and the examiner had just
gone out to the car. This meant that he’d already successfully completed the
written portion, so that was a big YAY, not to mention half the battle
won. And then…at 9:45 we could all exhale in relief, as the message came in, simply
stating “Passed”. Whoo hoo! What does that mean? A fully licensed
Team WestEnders, my friends!
Of course I sent
him electronic congratulations immediately, since he was continuing on to school
for the rest of the day. When he arrived back home I was able to get the rest
of the pertinent details, which can mostly be summed up by 1) he was reeaaally
nervous (expected and understandable); 2) the DMV dude actually inspected
the turn signals and rear lights to ensure they were in proper working order (notable
because…well…I might have…scoffed a bit at Husband for being paranoid
and whisking the car to a repair shop yesterday to replace a burned out bulb
that had him worried. Yeeeaaaah, I expect to take a lot of flack for that.
Anyway, my bad…but on the plus side, dodged a bullet, right?)
And finally,
there was really only one more thing I needed to know: “Where are you thinking
about going, on your first solo ride?” He laughed and replied, “I’m
not sure!” But if you’re wondering how excited he was to achieve this new
status and independence…he was in the house approximately a half-hour before he
announced that he’d decided to go for a drive. He selected the library
and grocery store for his inaugural destinations (which honestly could NOT
be more on-brand for this guy)…and off he went.
Whoa whoa
whoa…now hold on just a second…WHAT just HAPPENED? Ohhhh, right…my baby took
the car out for a spin. And I didn’t contemplate it before (because Mom
Denial is sometimes a necessary and precious thing) but this might be even harder
than when Derek did it. Because at that time, it was just ONE of
them reaching this momentous rite of passage, but now…the younger one is
suddenly also just too dang grown up for my comfort.
What I’m
saying is, there are many feelings that will need to be sorted through
and handled…and I’m gonna need a whole lot of time…and chocolate,
and I appreciate you respecting my fragility at this difficult juncture. Ha!
Just kidding—oh, never about the chocolate, though, so feel free to send
a bit of the dark stuff my way. Or…heeeey…I can now ask the beloved son to Go.
Get. Me. Some. Okay, I’m remembering the silver lining in all of this, everything’s
going to be fine! (However, with a brand new navigator in the fam,
please join me in keeping your fingers crossed for safety and serendipity,
thankyouverymuch!)
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