As my daughter turns 16, is it time to let go? – Part 2
There is an episode on the television show “Parenthood” that’s endearing to me. It’s the episode where Haddie begs Adam, her dad, to take her practice driving. He’s surprised, because he thought mom Cristina had been doing just that the last few weeks. Well, it turns out Cristina and Haddie had just been sitting in the car the whole time, while Cristina lectured. Cristina hadn’t allowed Haddie to get behind the wheel. When Adam confronts Cristina and asks why, she repeatedly replies, “She’s not ready yet.”
I can relate so well to this episode. You see, I’ve used every excuse possible to postpone this chapter. My daughter will turn 16 in August and, for the past months, I have been stalling. I told her she couldn’t even think of learning to drive until her grades improved. When they did, I said I was too busy to even consider it.
Finally, I could no longer postpone the inevitable. I got her the DMV handbook, so she could study. She took the online course, passed, and a couple of days later, her certificate arrived in the mail. On Wednesday, we went to the DMV office. She passed the vision exam, then took her permit test and passed. Tomorrow, the instructor is coming over for her first behind-the-wheel lesson.
Where have the years gone? It seems like yesterday, when I wrote that column about the time I dreaded buying my oldest daughter her first car. She is now 27 years old, married, and just bought her very first brand new car. Three years later, my son followed in her footsteps. Now, it’s their sister’s turn. She is the last, the youngest of my three children. My baby!
C’mon, she was just riding her push and ride racer and that Little Tikes Cozy Coupe not too long ago. It’s not fair that the years have gone by so quickly!
The other reason I’m dreading this is I never taught my children how to drive. In Iowa, the schools still have driver’s education as part of the high school curriculum. On weekends, their father taught them, so I was saved from the torment. When I finally rode with them behind the wheel, they were experienced drivers, and yes, like many mothers, I loved sending them to the store for milk and other items. We didn’t just skate through those times, though. They had their own share of fender benders, but thankfully, no major accident.
I’m having a harder time letting go of this one. She is my baby. We now live in the Bay Area and it can be dangerous driving here. Also, I am now a single parent and feel solely responsible for her safety.
When she visits her father in Iowa this summer, he promised he would teach her, too. But that’s in Iowa. There are fewer cars in Iowa. There are no pedestrians in Iowa. Merging on the freeway in Iowa is not the nightmare that it can be here, in the Bay Area.
When I spoke to the driving instructor last night, I asked him why is it that the California DMV only requires six hours of professional driver training. She needs more hours, I told him. If I had my way (and more money), I would pay for a year’s worth of professional driver training. He pointed out that in addition to the six-hour driving course, she is supposed to have 50 hours of behind-the-wheel experience with an adult, like a family member.
“A family member? You mean, me? … I just can’t!” I shrieked.
The instructor chuckled and said, “Let’s see how it goes on Saturday after I evaluate her.”
Thank goodness California law still requires her to have her permit for six months before she can take the driving test and get her driver license. And until she turns 18, she will have provisional restrictions.
The last of all the toys have been packed away for quite a while. This is my millennial child, who runs with earphones attached to her iPod and would rather text a friend than talk on the phone. I still cannot understand the music that blares from here iHome, and yes, like her siblings before her, she no longer calls me “Mommy.” Like them, she, too, has grown up and is about to enter a milestone in her life.
I’d like to wail, “She’s not ready yet!!!”
Let’s see how tomorrow goes …
As my daughter turns 16, is it time to let go? – Part 1
I wrote the column below 11 years ago, when my oldest daughter turned 16 years old and received her first car. I think it works well as a prelude to my next blog post:
My oldest daughter will turn 16 years old in a couple of days. After much resistance on my part, I finally relented and we bought her a used compact car. My husband tells me, “It’s the American way.” I never had the experience in my country. Most teen-agers don’t get a car when they turn 16 in the Philippines.
I took a survey among my friends and neighbors, and everyone told me they did, indeed, get a car when they turned 16. It may not have been a new car, but it had wheels and it took them places. Everyone said their first car was the most memorable. My husband still reminisces about the days when he drove his ’62 Ford Fairlane. “It was a very reliable car and got me through a lot of hard times!” he still says with nostalgia.
Another friend fondly remembered his Ford Tempo. Still another recalled the beat up station wagon which she hated, until she realized she could pile all her friends into her car.
Many mothers have told me I’ll actually be glad when Rina turns 16 and can drive, because I will now have an errand girl and life will be simpler – no more rides here and there. In fact, she will be able to give her siblings rides and I will be “free.” I’m not sure I like the sound of that, because this also means SHE will be free. Maybe this is what I am actually resisting – the coming of age, entering another chapter, this “rite of passage.”
It’s difficult for a parent to let go, especially for the first time. It seems like just yesterday when she was three and she and I were at the Hy-Vee Food Store. We had passed the cereal aisle, and with a twinkle in her eye, in a loud voice for all the world to hear, she said, “You’re going to get me cereal, right Mommy? Not dog food!”
Then, when she was five, there was the case of the traveling caterpillar. I had noticed her socks and underwear stashed in one corner of her room. “What’s all your stuff doing there?” I asked her. She mumbled something about “making a place for my caterpillar to sleep in.”
Then she explained, “When I rode my bike the other day, you know, I found this caterpillar on the road, so I took it home for a pet. Well, Mommy, I had to keep my caterpillar warm. Only it died.”
Trying to appear calm, I asked, “Where is it now?”
“I put it in my wastebasket, but I think it went for a walk,” she answered.
Inside the trash can I found some papers and grass that apparently came with this caterpillar; but, no caterpillar. I never did find the caterpillar in the house.
That crisis seems so trivial now compared to what’s ahead of me, for really, parents never stop worrying about their children. People are right when they advise others with young children to “enjoy that time,” because the worries do get bigger. Potty training is a cinch compared to worrying whether my daughter will get into an accident tomorrow. But as my other half has said, “She will have to drive sooner or later, and whether she’s 16, 18 or 21, you will still worry.”
Her Barbie dolls are packed away; the boom box is playing loud music I cannot understand; the tap dance shoes have been replaced with a tennis racket and a telephone; and teen-age boys and girls now frequent our home. I am no longer “Mommy”; I am now “Mom,” or called “Mother!” in that very impatient tone. It brings back memories of me and Mom, and those oh, so very turbulent teen-age years!
I know from my own experience that this, too, shall pass, but I tend to agree with my husband. After he bought Rina the car and headed for the airport on a business trip, he muttered, “Oh, how I wish she was three again and we were still going to her grandma’s farm for eggs on Saturday morning!”
My sentiments exactly!
Rose Meily
At ground level 