Lots of people like to get a good jolt in the morning with a cup of coffee. Me, I like to put one of the kids behind the wheel of the family sedan and fear for my life as he runs red lights and takes square corners.
There is nothing in the world that will wake you up faster.
I have taught three of our four boys to drive, and it’s not for the faint of heart. The jolt really kicks in once the children actually acquire a driver’s license and go off on their own. There’s the stress of watching them drive away, the worry of wondering if they’ll arrive safely and the raw fear you experience when they send you a text message as they’re driving down the street.
Then the reports start rolling in from all over town: “I saw your son roll through a stop sign,” “Your child made a left-hand turn without a blinker,” and every mother’s biggest fear, “Who was that cute young lady buckled in next to your boy last Tuesday?”
They don’t make enough Xanax to get a mother through it.
But I’m nothing if not vigilant, and I see to it that I do my best to change their ways. I conduct seminars at dinnertime, I post statistics on their bathroom mirrors, and when push comes to shove, I’m not afraid to take the keys.
Once on a Sunday afternoon, the younger children reported that Vernon, our fun-loving and eldest child, broke the speed limit, hit a speed bump and did a “Dukes of Hazzard” in the grocer’s parking lot. Having, as Little Charlie stated, “No regard for our safety.” Not that Charlie knows what a “regard” is or how it applies to his safety, you understand, but at least someone was listening to my lectures.
“Vernon,” I said as I pulled him aside for the proverbial “one on one,” “I understand that you drove fast yesterday.”
I then went on and on with a stellar lecture that I like to call, “What the heck were you thinking?,” I talked about accidents, rollovers and crash-test dummies. I elaborated on breaking the law, criminals, and I finished up with, “I’ll be taking your car keys for the rest of the week.”
He’s a wise one, that Vernon. He appeared sad, but then I’ll be if that kid didn’t pat me on the back, grin from ear to ear and happily announce, “Good deal, then you can drive me to and from golf practice.”
The very notion of having to drive that kid to and fro had me popping my clutch, and Vernon knew it. As if tripping all over town with a car full of hyper kids and a back end full of smelly gym bags was not bad enough, now I would have to add Vernon back onto my dance card.
Yet, I have years of experience under my belt and they have served me well. I decided that if I had to pick Vernon up from school and drive him around, he, too, should have to suffer and who better to make him see the light than dear old Mom.
“Vernon!” I called from the school parking lot as I tooted the horn, “Vernon, it is I, your chauffeur, your driver, your loving source of transportation!”
Vernon approached the car quickly and with great trepidation. “How was your day?” I asked as he climbed inside with beads of sweat forming on his brow. Before he could answer, I cranked up the tunes to be sure that people noticed as we drove away.
As we rounded the corner and prepared to enter the golf course, Vernon said, “Just drop me off by the clubhouse.”
While I’m not the sharpest tee in the box, I knew full good and well why Vernon wanted me to leave him a full city block away from his destination.
“Oh no,” I said with a sinister smile, “I’ll drop you right over there by your classmates. Why, no son of mine should have to walk great distances.”
As I pulled up alongside Vernon’s buddies, I put my finger on the button that rolls down the driver’s window. “You wouldn’t dare,” Vernon said as his face went pale.
I gave my little dear my best smile, and the race was on. As Vernon jumped out of the car and scrambled to get his clubs, I rolled down the window and called out in my happiest of voices “Hello, everyone! It is I, Vernon Clinch’s mother, here to drop the little guy off at the golf course.
“Have a good day,” I called as he jogged away with his clubs, “and always remember, Mommy loves!”
That was better than a jolt of coffee. In fact, it was like a shot in the arm.
Lori Clinch is the mother of four sons and the author of the book “Are We There Yet?” You can reach her at www.loriclinch. com.