Sweet Sixteen Turns Sour

My oldest daughter recently turned 16 and so we headed to the DMV office to get her driver's license. She has been driving on a learner's permit for over a year now without major incident although my doctor is quick to point out a life-threatening increase in my blood pressure.

On the way to the DMV it was obvious that Kate was more concerned about how she would look in her driver's license picture than how she would do on the road test. I suppose this is normal behavior for a teenage girl.

The examiner was a middle-age woman and it was clear from the beginning that she was completely unaware that the universe revolves around my daughter. How she could miss this fact, I don't know. Perhaps she is jaded by a long procession of teenagers who are also certain that they are, in fact, the center of the universe.

I waited while my daughter went on a short road test trying to sort out my conflicted feelings about this milestone. On the one hand, I wanted Kate to enjoy the independence of being able to drive on her own, but I was also worried about whether she was ready.

Here she is, only 16, and it seems like yesterday that she was no more than a baby in my arms. I remember bringing her home from the hospital as a newborn and how my wife worried that she was not going to be a good enough mother because she always managed to kill her houseplants. For the first few years Kate could only manage two things, sucking down formula by the gallon and decorating her diapers. Well, she made it past the most fragile stages with only one broken bone and the usual number of skinned knees.

Another part of me was looking forward to a little breath of freedom. With 3 daughters and myriad activities, it would be nice to reduce the amount of time spent in the car running around town. I pictured myself laying on the couch, as I often do with the remote in hand, sending Kate to pick up her sister from soccer practice and then to the store for another pint of Chubby Hubby ice cream.

My ruminations proved meaningless as the examiner returned to tell me that Kate had not passed. Allegedly, she didn't look over her shoulder when changing lanes. Still basking in my daydream of lying on the couch, I tried to explain that my child has a congenital attitude problem resulting in a total lack of concern for her surroundings, particularly what is behind her. I offered to get a doctor's note, but it was no use. Kate could not believe what was happening, but she was told to practice and come back in a week.

One week later, at Kate's urging, we decided to try again. I arrived at school to pick her up at the usual time, but she was nowhere in sight. After about a twenty minute wait she came sauntering out to the car, talking with a couple of friends. It was after 4:15 as I explained how we needed to arrive at the DMV before 4:30 if we wanted to get a road test.

Kate casually loaded her backpack in the car, completely unconcerned. She was quite certain that all was well and that there would be no problem handling the DMV bureaucrats if we were a little late.

By my watch we arrived at 4:27, but I was unable to convince the lady at the counter that her official clock on the wall was three minutes fast. It was Friday afternoon with a waiting room full of people and no amount of tears on my part would move her to allow us to wait in line for a road test.

The following Monday we set out on our quest once again. Halfway to the DMV office, I realized that I had forgotten the form from the insurance company. It was too far to drive back to the house for the form and we began to despair. Fortunately, we were able to gather all of the pertinent information with a quick phone call and we managed to arrive in plenty of time. When asked to produce the insurance form at check in, I explained our comical situation, but it was no use. Without the official form, there would be no driver's test. I am convinced that these people have no sense of humor.

Yesterday we arrived on time, we had all the forms and all systems were go. The examiner seemed friendly and helpful as he and Kate went out the car. Things were looking up. I sat in the waiting room to work on a crossword puzzle only to be interrupted by the examiner beckoning me to the parking lot.

The brake lights on my wife's Camry wagon were not working. (Kate is more comfortable driving this car because she says my truck is too big). The Camry is older and has over 150,000 miles, but it was recently inspected and I was stunned that both brake lights were out. The examiner would not give a road test in our car.

Our quest had failed once again and visions of couchside food deliveries vanished from my head. Before our next attempt I plan to hire a Feng Shui consultant, a priest and a Voodoo witch doctor to try and chase the anti-driving demons from Kate's body.

Kate really is a good driver and I'm not too worried about her, but maybe the insurance gods are trying to tell me that I can't handle the increased premiums.