Actually, it’s not that bad. He seems conscientious, if not a little timid. But I’ll fix that. And I am proud of him: he scored a 96 on the written exam, highest in his class. And in exchange for the inevitable ‘help’ he’s gonna receive from me in the passenger seat, I’ve allowed and encouraged him to criticize MY driving. So far, he’s busted me on a couple of things, so it works out. Him paying attention to me makes me feel better about his own driving. I’ve already promised him we’re gonna find a parking lot and learn what it’s like to stomp the brakes as hard as he can, feel the ABS(in this case), and not be afraid to do just that when necessary. On the opposite end of the spectrum, I hope to take him drag racing. Also, I hope to find an autocross somewhere, so he learns the limits of what the car can and cannot do. Not enough people know where the limits are, and are either afraid to approach them when necessary, or cross them altogether unintentionally. Mom, it’s my kid, my house, my rules.

Oh, and before I forget, I want to thank my own father, who, years ago, simply handed me and my brothers the keys when it was our turn to take the wheel. I don’t recall any backseat driving, or yelling, or panicking. I do remember one day, while Dad was working at the baseball fields at St Thomas Moore, he let me drive the Chevy around the parking lot, practicing braking, turning, using the signals with no other car in sight. I must have looked a fool, but I didn’t care, and neither did my dad. I hope I can be as pleasant to Adam as my dad was to me. Alas, for those of you who know me, don’t hold your breath. “General, take us…”