“Buckle your seat-belt, check your mirrors, don’t even think about touching your phone.”
My mom always reminds me of these things before starting up the car.
“If you think you need to text someone right now, you can turn your phone off and I’d be happy to take it from you,” she adds.
Learning how to drive, I thought, was supposed to be fun. I found out otherwise.
Every single second in the car with either my mom or my dad, was a nightmare.
I think the conclusion to where wrinkles and gray hair originate from is quite obvious. It appears having to teach your kids how to drive, takes years off of your life.
Insisting that nothing I’m doing is right, yelling when I do something that scares them slightly, or just sitting there with the expression on their face that the world is going to end, or we’re all going to die.
That is what I and other teenagers all over the world have to deal with.
And then parents expect us to be able to drive?
Taking some of the pressure off by not freaking out every five seconds, then possibly we can do what you yearn for us to do so badly. Drive the car.
Thankfully, after six months of driving, my parents finally started to breathe when they were in the car with me. The only part that really stinks is that it took them the entire six months to finally get comfortable.
The greatest day of my teenage life had to have been the day I drove my car out of the driveway without one other person in the car with me.
Excitement rushing through your veins, freedom blowing in your hair, and the sweet sound of JUST your stereo. Awesome. Now this is driving.
By Dillon Walker