Our son is learning to drive, and we are learning to be in the passenger seat while he learns to drive. But like so many things we have to learn how to do in life, the driving manual and driving instructions are just part of the learning experience. He has to learn by actually driving, and, while I’ve taught other kids how to drive both automatic and standard transmissions, none of them could have prepared me for driving with our son.

In NH, the magical driving age is 15.5 to drive with an adult over 25 years old. Then they take drivers’ education at 15 and 9 months. They sit for their written test at 16, followed by their actual driving test. I passed my driving test, but I did hit a squirrel and felt terrible ending a life. The instructor was like, “Can’t be helped,” and we continued along. I hear his voice in the back of my head “can’t be helped” along with my own mom and dad’s. I appreciate the friends who have offered to drive with him in the coming months, and apparently there is an app that tracks their hours– day and night.

While I do not have a “chill personality” (like my mom) according to my kids, I try to be as much like her in the passenger side of the car as I can. Undoubtedly, the kids do not see the effort this requires. Of course, we had tackled some parking lots and our former condo residence prior to age 15.5, much like we did in our own childhoods. But the first time I drove with Carver, he tried explaining to me while driving our pick up truck around each little cul-de-sac that, to him, driving felt a lot like skiing– that it was important to pick one’s line when taking the corner. This made me nervous so that when his next acceleration felt more like watching him ski race than turning slowly, I may have overreacted. “Mom,” he said, “you promised you would remain calm. This is not calm.”

“And you promised me that you would be cautious. This is not cautious,” I yelled.

But then we drove more on real roads, not just neighborhoods, and I was pleased to see that he was a little more aware of the crowds in our downtown areas– that they made him pay more attention– that they made him feel a little more nervous. As a parent, I want him to feel a little more nervous; not to freeze up and panic, like I did that time on the hill near Burger King when I could not get the clutch in right at the red light and kept rolling backwards. But to my dad’s credit, for a regular yeller, he remained the “poster dad” for drivers’ education students.

“Mom,” he interjected as we approached the one light in the intersection in our our one light town, “please explain to me again who has the right of way.” We were on our way to pick up his sister at her job scooping ice cream at Maple Haven Campground. And we forget just how much thinking has to happen at the same time when turning left, even in a small town, at the peak of tourist season. The blinker, the construction zone, the cars approaching from each direction, the lady with the crazy hat walking her toddler on a leash approaching the cross walk. I channeled the calmest version of myself and tried not to grip the seat as he turned left smoothly with the appropriate amount of pressure on the gas, without me feeling like he was trying to pick the best line.

This last weekend, we needed to go north to Franconia to move the grandparents’ deck furniture for them onto the deck. This would be his first trip on the highway, and I love that his first trip on the highway was through the Notch which connects northern and southern NH. People say we live in the North Country, but really the North Country is north of the Notch, for you folks who remember the Old Man of the Mountains, north of the Old Man’s profile, north of Cannon, Echo Lake, etc. As we approached the highway on ramp, he put on his blinker and said he was relieved it wasn’t that busy; I was equally relieved, but anxious with the speed differential being “in” the Notch at 45-50 and then accelerating to 70 outside the Notch.

But we survived and, at the risk of him reading this and asking me to take it down, we high fived loudly after pulling into Grandma and Grandpa’s driveway successfully. I told him I was writing a blog about driving and asked permission to use this photo to which he replied via text, “I guess.” I told them about the time Pop made me drive through New York City on the George Washington Expressway on our way to Aunt Lynn’s house in Philadelphia– and how I was convinced my mom’s giant conversion van had zero space on either side to protect us from the jersey barriers that lined the road. Yet, I survived. I shared with the kids that the very first time Gram and Pop drove to their dad’s parents’ house it was during a snowstorm, and they actually got stuck in a ditch in their neighborhood. We had to call a tow truck to pull them out of the snowbank. Pops considers himself to be an excellent driver, and even the best of drivers sometimes have accidents, caused by themselves or others. You know how we sometimes say the wrong things as parents to our kids with the best of intentions? This was one of those times. As we drove away from their house, I took the opportunity to explain the term defensive driving. I started in the right direction– that you always have to be paying attention in case there are distracted drivers sharing the road. And then, I said, “You basically need to expect that all the drivers on the road with you are drunk, high on drugs, on their phones or about to fall asleep at the wheel and you need to be ready for anything at all times.”

Crickets. Then I took a deep breath staring straight ahead, trying to impress the gravity and responsibility of learning to drive.

“Really, Mom? That’s a bit over the top.” I laughed and told him parenting was also like picking our line, and sometimes we miss a gate. Like I said, we don’t always have the instruction manual for parenting either, despite our best efforts. Feel free to share and send your best learning to drive stories.