Learning to Fly
My middle boy, Jake, is currently obsessed.
He wants to learn how to drive.
Then he wants a new car.
Then he wants to fly around town, picking things up for the family, meeting his friends, driving all across the world.
We are a tad skeptical.
"I've seen him walk into walls," I said to Kathy.
And of course, there's the feeling that we don't want them to grow up. We certainly know the dangers of being out in the big, bad world.
But we know that he has to learn to fly on his own.
Somehow.
Last week I told him to get in the car.
"Why?"
"I'm taking you driving."
He ran to the vehicle and went straight for the driver's side door.
"No."
I drove to an empty parking lot.
He listened as I told him the basic truth.
"People die driving every day," I said.
"They drive drunk or they die texting. They die because they drive too fast or too careless. It's a responsibility. You have to be safe."
He was nodding along.
I repeated it a whole bunch of times.
Then I moved to the passenger seat and let him start the car, telling him what to do each step of the way. If he was nervous, he didn't let on.
He drove carefully around the parking lot, turning slowly, backing up, just getting the feel of the car.
I can't say that I wasn't scared for him, but let me tell you, he was way better at it than I was at 16 years old.
We practiced.
I watched him concentrate. It was impossible not to think of the moment when he was born, or the moment when he came through surgery, or the moments we brought him back from the hospital - both when he was an infant, and when he was sick.
"There's one other rule," I said as we switched back for the drive home.
"What's that?" he asked.
"When you drive you have to listen to Springsteen. It keeps you calm. None of that hip-hop shit."
He smiled.
I made him promise.
"I won't drive drunk. I won't text and drive. I'll always listen to Bruce," he said.
"Perfect. You'll fly right."
Next week we learn the three-point turn.
He wants to learn how to drive.
Then he wants a new car.
Then he wants to fly around town, picking things up for the family, meeting his friends, driving all across the world.
We are a tad skeptical.
"I've seen him walk into walls," I said to Kathy.
And of course, there's the feeling that we don't want them to grow up. We certainly know the dangers of being out in the big, bad world.
But we know that he has to learn to fly on his own.
Somehow.
Last week I told him to get in the car.
"Why?"
"I'm taking you driving."
He ran to the vehicle and went straight for the driver's side door.
"No."
I drove to an empty parking lot.
He listened as I told him the basic truth.
"People die driving every day," I said.
"They drive drunk or they die texting. They die because they drive too fast or too careless. It's a responsibility. You have to be safe."
He was nodding along.
I repeated it a whole bunch of times.
Then I moved to the passenger seat and let him start the car, telling him what to do each step of the way. If he was nervous, he didn't let on.
He drove carefully around the parking lot, turning slowly, backing up, just getting the feel of the car.
I can't say that I wasn't scared for him, but let me tell you, he was way better at it than I was at 16 years old.
We practiced.
I watched him concentrate. It was impossible not to think of the moment when he was born, or the moment when he came through surgery, or the moments we brought him back from the hospital - both when he was an infant, and when he was sick.
"There's one other rule," I said as we switched back for the drive home.
"What's that?" he asked.
"When you drive you have to listen to Springsteen. It keeps you calm. None of that hip-hop shit."
He smiled.
I made him promise.
"I won't drive drunk. I won't text and drive. I'll always listen to Bruce," he said.
"Perfect. You'll fly right."
Next week we learn the three-point turn.
Comments