Driving with son is a rough road

"Watch out for the ditch. The ditch. The ditch!"
These were my first words of advice for my 151/2 year old as he sat behind the wheel of the car.
He had received his driving permit the day before and, for the first time in years, was eager to go on any errand.
We were backing out of the driveway to go to the library when I found myself clutching the dashboard, gripped in fear, bracing for the plummet into the neighbors' drainage ditch.
Robert thought I was overreacting.
"I see the ditch mom," he said calmly.
I smiled faintly, trying to feign confidence in my child. "OK," I said weak and white knuckled.
After several days of "adventures," I informed my husband one evening, "I don't think I should ride with Robert anymore. My gasping, holding my heart, clutching the dashboard and grasping at the ceiling is hurting his self- confidence," I admitted.
"You're kidding me," Pat said casually. "We're having a great time in the car when he drives. He's a good driver."
Personally, I would not call Robert a "good" driver -- yet. I will agree that he has great potential.
He conscientiously adjusts the side and rear-view mirrors every time he gets behind the wheel. He straps on his seat belt and makes sure everyone riding with him is wearing theirs. When he turned off the radio before putting the car in drive, I knew this child was serious about safety.
Life in review
If only we could get to the point with his driving where my life stops flashing in front of my eyes.
In the past month, my life has flashed, fast-forwarded, reversed speed and nearly come to a screeching halt with Robert as my designated driver.
Just driving down the road takes my breath away -- and possibly an arm.
He hugs the side of the road so close, I find myself leaning toward him in my seat, certain that a mailbox is going to land on my lap.
Negotiating turns can be a real heart-stopper.
Maintaining his affinity for ditches, Robert pulled out to go left on a busy road one afternoon and nearly introduced us to the ditch on the other side.
Turning right off our road one evening, he didn't turn the wheel enough and went all the way across the double yellow line into the other lane. I have never been more thankful for cars that are not there.
"That was too fast!" I squawked when I regained my breath. (It has become a mantra that I now bellow out in my sleep.)
Then there are times when I contradict my own advice.
Pulling out of the video store, he negotiated the right hand turn a little too tight and nipped the curb. He took his foot off the gas after the first tire went over the curb. I looked out his window and saw a semi truck barreling down upon us.
"Gun it!" I screamed.
Please stop
And then there is the inevitable stop.
I would have to say, this is one of Robert's best beginning skills. He seems to have a pretty good feel for the brake. He does, however, tend to start the process a little too late.
"There's a red light up there," I informed him one morning on the way to school.
"I know mom," he replied in his ever calm voice.
"You need to slow down ... Start braking ... Hit the brakes!"
Though he has almost killed me several times, I feel sorry for the child. Truly, I would not want to learn to drive with me.
But there is light for both of us at the end of the road.
We were running an errand to the store, Robert in the driver's seat, me riding shotgun. As he went to turn the corner at the end of our road, I assumed my usual position, one hand on the dash, the other grasping the roof.
His negotiation was smooth and precise -- textbook perfect.
"Nice! Very nice!" I beamed, looking proudly at him.
He turned his head and smiled back, proud of himself.
It was a wonderful moment that nearly ended with Robert hitting a mailbox.
gwhite@vindy.com