Hard to get used to grandchildren driving

“I’m taking mom’s car to school.”

“Well, if I don’t ever see you again, we’ve had a pretty good run together.”

“Oh, shush.”

“I wasn’t talking to you, I was talking to the car.”

“You are horrible!”

And she’s right, I am horrible and more. But it’s hard to get used to the idea that your youngest granddaughter is driving. I don’t even remember her riding a bicycle. Maybe she never did! Bicycles may seem rather pedestrian to kids these days.

I had been driving her somewhat frequently to that battleground of teen angst, also known as high school. It can sound like just another chore that has to be done, but there are also creative possibilities.

We have had some good conversations on the way to the educational chaos campus. Occasionally she even reads free verse to me that she has written herself. So “just another trip into town” sometimes becomes “get me an espresso, I’m going to a poetry reading.” I even snap my fingers instead of clapping my hands, just like the beatniks of ancient times. Which is convenient, because I only have to take one hand off the steering wheel.

But more importantly, I get a rare glimpse into the mind of a teenager. Only, this teenager has been exposed to far more choices and challenges than I had when I was her age.

So I’m the one who is getting an education here. Long ago I had driven my own daughter to school, but life was different then. And I am a slow learner.

Which explains why I didn’t understand years ago the words of a young mom. She had two kids, one girl, one boy. So just to make conversation, I said to her one day, “It must be tough having to be the cab driver all the time for a couple of kids.”

She smiled, knowingly. “I treasure those moments. We’re so busy that time together is really at a premium. Taking them to soccer practice or band rehearsal sometimes becomes quality time. Especially with my son. His dad takes him hunting and fishing. They do ‘guy things’ together,’ so his dad really has an unfair advantage over me.” She laughed. She was overstating the “unfairness” but only by a little.

I will grudgingly admit that driving is a necessary thing for the young people in your family. And perhaps it is the true beginning of adulthood. It has been years since my dad passed away, God rest his soul. But I don’t think of the end of his life as the day he drew his last breath. The end was when he was almost in a car accident and my sister had to take away the keys.

Loss of independence isn’t the same as loss of life, but they are still fraternal twins, though not identical.

Still, I should be grateful for grandkids that wield the car keys. Someday, they may be my main mode of transportation. Mostly taking me to doctor’s appointments, or maybe to a furniture store to be reupholstered. I do hope I live long enough to see the movie they will make about me:

“Driving Mr. Daisy.” It will be different. I don’t look much like Jessica Tandy, but my granddaughters look even less like Morgan Freeman.