On the day I turned 16, I recall having a pride-wounding bicycle wreck on my way to my parents’ office. It was a foreshadowing of what type of motor vehicle driver I would evolve into. A terrible one. Driver’s education wasn’t available in our small town. I had already earned a bad-driving reputation with my family. After driving the riding mower into a fence, I don’t think either of my parents were eager to get in a vehicle with me driving. My mom eventually did. We made each other a nervous mess. Eventually I got the hang of it and they turned me loose in dad’s old blue GMC pick-up truck. I cannot say I didn’t have a few bumps and a minor crash (or two) along the way. Every time I made a mistake (one of many) my parents let me know I’d disappointed them. They always let me try again, and again and again. It was probably a happy day for them when I was no longer on their auto insurance policy.
As a college freshman, I had to do a lot of driving. I spent a year serving as a Missouri state FFA officer. I had to drive to visit many schools and attend agriculture education events across the state. It was then I discovered not only was I a terrible driver, I also had no sense of direction and a lead foot. I was constantly asking for directions and drawing out maps. I may have even had a few speeding violations. This really hasn’t changed today.
My hand-drawn maps have been replaced with satellite GPS technology. My husband has spent the last 16 years trying to retrain my brain to think about north, south, east and west. I still ask if things are about landmarks when deciding to get from point A to point B. Drives the poor man crazy. People have always extended their patience and grace to me and for that, I am so thankful.
My husband and I made a pact when the kids were born. He will teach all of our four children to drive. He is better equipped for the task. My husband has extraordinary patience. He is a gentle teacher and has a much better driving record. He started teaching our kids to drive from the time their little feet could walk. Two of them are conscientious drivers. Two… take after their mother. I’ve already started praying for all of them to be safe drivers who obey traffic laws and follow directions.
Last weekend, we were heading up to our neighbor’s to grill out. I was at home making a salad. I sent our 7-year-old son on the Kubota (RTV) with some meat to be put on the grill. He drives like his daddy and I most generally do not worry about this kid. I nearly had a heart attack when he came back five minutes later sobbing uncontrollably. He had clipped the back of my car’s bumper and made a huge crack in it. It scared him to death. I held him and told him I was disappointed. The usual wise-mom stuff came out of my mouth, “accidents happen, son.” “Thank you for being honest about your mistake, son.” “Cars can be fixed or replaced but people can’t, son.”
He calmed down and we agreed he’d do some extra work after school and on the weekends to pay for his accident. All he really needed was reassurance he is loved no matter how big or small his mistakes. Don’t we all need that? A little patience and grace goes a long way. Safe travels, neighbor.
