Riding Shotgun

My youngest son turned 16 this week. He’s been learning to drive, and before long he’ll be getting his drivers license. Before long he’ll be ready to hit the road alone…without me, and it got me to thinking.

I remember when I learned to drive. My father gave me my first lesson: How to Start the Engine. He was a big fan of taking baby steps. The car was parked in the driveway. We hopped in and it felt a little strange. For the first time I was in the driver’s seat and my dad, of course, was riding shotgun.

“Today you’re just going to start the car and then you’ll back up a little bit and pull forward a little bit. Back and forth, right here in the driveway and that’s it. Okay. Go ahead and start the car.”

“Where’s the button?”

“What button?”

“You know, the on button.” I was remedial.

“There is no on button. Put the key into the ignition and turn it.”

I did as I was told, the motor started and I started screaming at the top of my lungs.

“WHAT’S WRONG WITH YOU?  WHY ARE YOU SCREAMING?” my dad bellowed over my shrieking.

“IT STARTLED ME!  I DIDN’T EXPECT IT TO START LIKE THAT!”

 “How did you expect it to start? Never mind. We’re done for today. Shut the engine.”

That was my first lesson. It took my poor father a good while to muster up the courage to get back in the car with me, but eventually he did. There we were again, parked in the driveway with me in the driver’s seat and dad riding shotgun. I readied myself for lesson number two, checked the mirrors and adjusted the seat.

“Do you remember how to start the car?”

“Come on dad,” I probably rolled my eyes or snorted or made some other teenager-ish gesture.

“Okay. Get comfortable and go ahead and start ‘er up…and no screaming or we’re done.”

“Okay.” I started the car without incident.

“Very good. Now, put your foot on the brake and shift the car into reverse. Look in the rear-view mirror, and turn and glance behind you to make sure the way is clear.”

I did as I was told.

“Good. Now ease off the brake and gently press the gas pedal.  Good. Good. Now stop.” And of course I slammed on the brake and we jerked to a stop.

“Okay. Not bad, but you don’t need to slam on the brake, just tap it.” And it was at this point that my dad looked at me and noticed I was sitting with my left knee up by my ear, my foot resting on the dashboard.

“WHAT THE HECK ARE YOU DOING WITH YOUR FOOT UP ON THE DASHBOARD LIKE THAT?”

“What? It’s comfortable. You said to get comfortable.”

“That’s it. We’re done.”

At that rate it was a miracle I ever learned to drive, but I did. 

Fast-forward several decades. My youngest son, my baby, turned 16 this week. He’s been learning to drive and now I am the one riding shotgun. Although there are times I wish I could grab the wheel and take over as we make our way about town, I cannot.

My job, you see, in riding shotgun is to prepare him so that when the day comes for him to hit the road alone, he will be ready. 

The thing is, it’s not easy riding shotgun. Especially when you’ve been in the driver’s seat every minute of every day for the better part of your baby’s life. It’s not easy when you’re used to charting the course and leading the way. It’s not easy riding shotgun.

At the start of every school year, my son's principal gives this advice to parents of freshman. “Your job,” he says, “is not to prepare the road ahead for your children, but to prepare your children for the road ahead.” As they say: easier said than done.

It isn’t easy, but I will suppress my urge to grab the wheel, to steer the course. It’s hard to imagine my driving days are almost over, but I am thankful. At least for now, even if it is for just a little while longer, at least for now... I’m riding shotgun.