Nick Jimenez

That driver's license marks a real passage

Gail Sheehy wrote a best seller called "Passages" several years ago that purported to lay out the milestones in an adult's life, all the way from the buoyant 20s to the washed-out 50s. Sheehy pretty well laid out the stages in a person's life. But she left out a few points.
   There was the milestone, for instance, when the pretty little clerks stop saying, "Hi" and say, "Hello, sir." There is the moment that you bend down and find that getting back up is now a project. There is the time in your life when you find that no matter how much you want to sleep late, just like when you were a kid, you can't because your body now aches when it stays in bed too long.
   And there is the moment when your youngest child gets his driver's license. All the independence that comes with the bestowal from the State of Texas of a driver's license, that laying on of government hands that says that the holder of such license is now permitted to drive on any federal, state, county or city road within the borders of Texas, and, by common agreement, on any roadway of any state of these United States, and by diplomatic convention on virtually any lane or path in the world, has arrived. Here's the keys, kid.
   Omar and I had been practicing for a long time now. Actually for many months, interrupted by a freshman semester at college, before the fated day arrived. Some kids start driving in their early teens, but we have been spared that duress. When the great day came, it passed with hardly a hint of fanfare. But when I went home that evening, the car was gone and I knew that one more little passage had been negotiated.
   I used to be the only guy at the wheel of the family auto. On many vacations, on trips to visit Grandma, on long hard drives up the spine of Texas, it was old Dad at the controls. Just how many miles could Dad do today? Up and down Arkansas hills, across New Mexico deserts, running down small Missouri roads looking for Mark Twain's birthplace, I was the sole trusty chauffeur.
   When the question rang out from back "Are we there yet?", I was the target.
   My migration from driver to passenger began a couple of years ago. First, it was David, then Marissa, and now Omar. One of life's passage points has to be the first time you wind up riding in the back seat of your own car. You know, it's not bad. I actually get to look around and get to see new things besides the back license plate of the guy ahead.
   And where once they griped about helping Dad mow the lawn, now they rush to aid out of sheer mercy. They don't want the old boy to keel over, I guess.
   Before I get too nostalgic about this, let me say that I also got a call from the insurance agency. Yikes! Hey, I just wanted car insurance, I didn't want mold coverage. Part of life's passages is also writing a lot of checks to people you don't know for services other people enjoy.
   And, of course, it's not about driving. It's about raising kids. And pretty soon you're not raising kids. You're living with adults who have lives and they have to be about their own way. The final training wheels are being taken away. You can only trust that their own judgment, good sense and values will carry them from here.
   The State of Texas only gets to confer a driver's license, but parents have to arm their children with the rest of the tools. This is no short course, and it's a lifelong trip.
   Are we there yet?
  
   Editorial Page Editor Nick Jimenez can be reached by phone at 886-3787, or by e-mail at jimenezn@caller.com
  
  
  

 
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