When my kids turn twelve, I have a tradition of teaching them how to drive on that Father’s Day.
“Why would you let a 12-year old drive?!”
Part of my vocation as a father is to develop within my kids an adventurous spirit. I’m not a helicopter parent, I’m more free-range. Children are their own persons with their own interests and ambitions. Behold the world is out there for them to explore!
I’m also terrified of the idea of losing my children suddenly in an avoidable car crash. I figure I can give them a leg up with training, practice and comfort dealing with uncertainty.
We drive a stick-shift 2001 Jeep Wrangler “TJ” Sahara edition. I bought it on a whim from a retired couple in Georgetown because I wanted a convertible and a 4×4. This Jeep is the perfect vehicle to learn how to drive. It’s got a very forgiving clutch in low gear, it’s easy to control, and it rolls easily over curbs (oh, my!).
We drive in abandon parking lots. Before I hand over the keys, I give them “the talk.” I explain that driving involves an intimate joining of man and machine. They are to take command while respecting the power they control. Great things happen when they have the freedom to go into the world and tame it.
I implore them to be geeentle. Be suuubtle. Don’t mash the brake or pop the clutch or jam the gas. Don’t jerk the wheel. Take your time and roll out slooowly. “Yes, Dad.” They hear the words, but the anticipation is palpable.
I park, we switch seats, and I’m completely hands off. Move the seat up, seatbelt, adjust your mirror, adjust the other mirror, can you see behind you? “Yes, Dad.” We go through the strange handles and knobs. There’s the turn signal, the wipers, the lights. They rotate the wheel a bit.
We cut the engine and go through all five gears plus reverse. They get a feel for how the stick feels wiggling it in neutral. They put it in gear, release the handbrake, pull the handbrake, back to neutral. We take several minutes for them to get familiar with the environment.
Starting the engine is always fun. After double-confirming they’re in neutral and holding the clutch, they turn the ignition. Inevitably they hold too long and grind the starter. I admit, I start sweating a bit. Anticipation is peaking.
They struggle to release the e-brake, and now, holding all motion with their left foot, they gently ease off the clutch. The old Jeep crawls forward ever so slowly, inch by inch until we’re moving! It’s thrilling!
Hilarity ensues.
We can’t really talk about steering, it takes practice to get a sense of how much a vehicle will turn. Inevitably, they over rotate and panic. Hint: wide open spaces really help. Mary duffed her first so badly, she headed straight for a curbed island.
“Whoa, honey, slow down! Turn! Turn!” quickly gave way to “Give it gas, hammer it!” when she couldn’t avoid the island. Thank God we were in a Jeep, it just crushed right over the concrete and grass and back off the other side. We bounced around, and I laughed, “Let’s go!”
Simon stalled at the bottom of a curved hill. When he restarted, he popped the clutch hard and slammed the gas. The tires screeched a trailing skid, his first burnout, my mind racing ahead a few years expecting it probably won’t be his last. At the apex, he hit the curb hard forcing me to grab the wheel lest we roll the Jeep. That would not have been good. He kept the tach running strong, never stalled again.
When we’re done looping around, both kids can easily run from a standing start up through the gears. We stay off surface streets and let them cruise while the Texas sun sets on a hot June evening. My favorite part is the cooling open air while they gain confidence; driving the old man around is a breeze.
I stop for ice cream on the way home, a just summer reward for a job well done. We get home and retell the stories, and then to their friends. “You’re dad is so cool, my parents won’t let me drive.” That’s a shame. They should.
