This message is coming to you from the Land of Loud Shrieking, also known as a modest suburban home where two teenagers are simultaneously in the process of acquiring their drivers licenses.
I’m doing a lot of screaming these days, mostly when I’m in the car and stomping hard on the brakes.
Then, to my horror, I realize that I’m on the passenger side, I have no brakes, and my child in the driver’s seat doesn’t seem interested in slowing down until after we have smashed into the Honda Civic stopped in front of us at the light.
“AYEEEEEE!!!!!!!” bursts out of my mouth and my blood pressure spikes, as we hurtle rapidly toward the Honda, now a mere four feet away. “FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, STOP!”
At this point, the aforementioned child takes his or her foot off the gas, slams on the brake, comes to a screeching halt two inches from the Honda’s bumper, and then looks accusingly at me.
“I was already stopping, Mom. You have to quit yelling at me. You’re stressing me out.”
I take deep, cleansing breaths as I meditate on the irony of my teenagers accusing me of stressing them out, while I am risking a stroke or heart attack just getting into the car with them.
“I already told you, you’re not getting any of my money if you kill me,” I usually remind them at this point.
“I have already instructed your uncle, my executor, that if I die because you gave me a stroke or killed me in a car wreck, he’s to give all my money to charity, because you’re not getting it.”
Truthfully, I only have $1.18 to leave them, but they don’t have to know that.
Knowing my kids, I hired the folks at Orange County’s Teen Road to Safety to do their driver education, because they’re all former cops and I feel the world is a safer place while my kids are driving accompanied by law-enforcement officers.
Really, there should be a figure like Paul Revere on horseback riding in front, shouting, “The teens are coming. The teens are coming.” And maybe selling gun turrets to the crowd.
Some of my friends bought Groupons for their kids to take cheap online driver education classes, and as you know I’m normally a cheapskate myself, but not when it comes to my offspring steering a 3,000-pound lethal weapon down the street.
I sent both of them to lengthy classroom instruction from Teen Road to Safety before they even got their permits, including watching those gory movies they make you see in traffic school, and also putting on “drunk goggles” that simulate what life is like after the bar closes.
“Mom, my friends need to slow down!” my son, Cheetah Boy, said after one class, indicating that the class was working.
If I could have hired a race-car driver to teach them, I would have. In fact, I kind of did.
In the spring, I brought both of them to the Orange County fairgrounds to attend a B.R.A.K.E.S one-day teen driving school for young drivers, which was founded by NHRA drag racing star Doug Herbert, after both of his young sons died in a crash.
B.R.A.K.E.S. stands for “Be Responsible And Keep Everyone Safe,” and Herbert founded it in 2008 after his older son got into an accident, killing himself and his younger brother.
The one-day class teaches accident avoidance and other critical road skills, both to the teenagers who attend and their parents.
The most important thing I learned that day is to let my kids drive when I’m in the car, even if it terrifies me, rather than waiting until they have their licenses and are unleashed on the road without my supervision.
This program travels around the country and costs $99, though you can give them a check and ask for your money back afterwards, making it free. No one really does, though, after they see the level of instruction the kids get.
The next event in Costa Mesa is Sept. 10-11, also at the fairgrounds, and at this writing, registration was still open. You can learn more at PutOnTheBrakes.org.
The worst thing about the B.R.A.K.E.S. experience was that they also made the parents take the defensive driving course, and I was horrible at it.
The former cop who was teaching us parents got so frustrated with me, I almost got out of the car and walked away. I couldn’t help it, I see an obtacle I’m supposed to swerve around like a race driver, and I hit the brakes instead.
Can’t teach an old dog new tricks.
Meanwhile, Cheetah Boy got his license, after taking his driving test twice. The first time he failed because he drove too slowly, something I’m pretty sure will never, ever happen again in his lifetime.
I’ve become familiar with most of the DMV locations in the vicinity now, and here’s my advice: Never go after 10 a.m. In fact, go when they open, if possible, when there’s a vague chance you might actually get a parking place and even the appointment line won’t be 10 people deep.
Actually, I’m a little surprised that no one goes around selling life insurance or funeral plots while people are waiting in the long, long lines for their kid to take the driving test. Seems like they’d find some eager takers.
Tamale sellers with a cooler full of cold drinks would probably do well, too, then they could trundle over to the ridiculous out-the-door lines for the poor slobs who don’t have appointments and are camped out there all day.
Last week, Curly Girl took her driving test, after driving all over California for the last six months. She drove across the Golden Gate Bridge. And in San Francisco. She drove over the Grapevine twice. She’s a great driver.
Her instructor, retired CHP officer Sal Vela, thought so, too.
But after we waited at the DMV for 2.5 hours, (those appointments work great, my friends) she was such a nervous wreck by the time she finally got to the front of the line that she failed the test in five minutes. Then sobbed all the way home.
We hadn’t had any breakfast before we left, foolishly thinking that our appointment made weeks ago would mean it wouldn’t be all-day ordeal, and it was far past lunchtime when we got home.
Curly Girl had lost her appetite but I was so stressed out by the whole experience that I was compelled to eat fried chicken for the first time in four months.
Now, she has another appointment for a second test, which will cost more money. I’d better make sure my will is up to date before we go back, bring some pizza and a cooler full of drinks. And get there at dawn.
Contact the writer: 714-796-7994 or mfisher@ocregister.com
