From the Back Seat

(We helped our daughter buy her first used car this week. Yikes! To honor this transition I am posting this essay which I published in December 2005.)

As I sat in the back seat, I vowed I would not become a backseat driver. My husband sat up front next to our daughter. He is obviously the better teacher and driver, I told myself. Besides, I couldn't trust whether my calmer, letting-go mothering instincts, or my yikes-she's-growing-up stomach churning would win out. Our 15 ½ -year old daughter was now behind the wheel of our car and driving us to west Eugene's Sweet Life Cafe for the first time.

“Do you think she's ready to back out of the driveway?” I muttered. Dan was instructing her to stop at the sidewalk first and then again before the street. She pulled back slightly too fast and didn't stop until after the sidewalk.

“Don't you think she should slow down?” I was admonished for my backseat comments and we hadn't even made it to the street yet. She eased her way out into the street and I tried to stop my words, but they just kept coming.

“I know you see Nina's truck.” She confidently straightened the wheel as she narrowly slid beside the small blue pickup.

There was a car coming behind us now and our daughter deliberately put it into drive and slowly proceeded down the road. Before we started, I had told her to never worry about what the other drivers might think about her slow and careful driving. I also shared what my father had shared with me as a teenager: “Always drive like the other driver is going to do something stupid or wrong.” I took a deep breath. I can do this, I reminded myself. I can sit here quietly and let her father handle this.

We drove down our quiet street. No panic here. She was doing fine. She had to turn left and then

right, driving for a few blocks on one of our busier streets. I held the car door armrest.

We were back on a quiet street and she was driving too fast. I mentioned how I seldom rode in the

back seat and it seemed faster than in the front seat. My daughter countered with how it seemed

faster when you were in the driver's seat. But she didn't slow down.

Dan had her move down to a crawl when we saw a pedestrian and a bicyclist. A yield sign was on the corner and Dan didn't have her stop. OK, I couldn't hold my tongue. I had to mention that while learning to drive I thought our daughter should stop at the yield signs. You never knew what might be up ahead. I continued to hold the door armrest, a bit tighter this time.

Dan had our daughter park near our neighborhood playground. Neither of us were ready for her to maneuver the car into one of the cafe's tight parking spots. She stopped as she slightly hit the tire against the curb's edge. But she straightened, set the brake, pulled out the keys and smiled a broad grin.

We praised her as I walked with wobbling legs the rest of the way. What might have seemed like an ordinary dessert was made to be a special celebration by our daughter's first-time destination driving. She and I, and she and her dad, had been practicing at our local fairgrounds parking lot. This was her first real on-the-road-driving experience.

At the cafe, I looked across the table and saw my daughter, this young woman, staring back at me. She is already two inches taller and far more mature than I ever was at her age. Full of sugar now, we strolled back to the car and our daughter used the fob to open the doors. I took my dutiful place in the back seat. We were going to the fairgrounds and, of course, I couldn't help commenting on how we were going to get there without traversing those “busy” streets. Dan had it under control. I sat with my hand on the door handle as if I thought I could make a quick exit when the needed time came.

But then, as our daughter drove us further down the street, it hit me. Was I not only holding onto the handle but holding too tightly onto my daughter as well? When I told her to slow down her driving, was I really telling her to slow down her growing-up process?

She drove on and made it safely to the fairgrounds. I sighed and let go of the armrest. Was I being overprotective? Did I fear relinquishing her to those busy streets?

She was driving with confidence in this confined space and made her way to a small bridge that crosses over to the outer parking lot. We were heading to the smaller neighborhood streets just beyond the fairgrounds. I took some more deep breaths. I can do this, I told myself. If we just take these driving lessons at a gradual pace; if she and her parents don't rush the learning, but embrace the gaining of competence step by step.

Being a parent, watching one's child grow from her first cherished steps on the ground to her first time behind the wheel in this motorized vehicle, is nothing short of a whirlwind miracle. Can I no longer hold her hand? Am I relegated to the back seat? I sat up straighter. I let go of the door handle. Then I leaned forward and quietly told my daughter, “You're doing an amazing job.”

(c) 2005