Return of the Domestic Ogress – The Driving Test

Return of the Domestic Ogress – The Driving Test

Well it has been a while since I last regaled you with the mirth of bringing up three young boys. When they were very young and capable of about just anything they were an endless source of amusement.

Now they are all in (or closely approaching) the teen years it is an entirely different story. They are young men with all the attendant Moods. Attitudes. Dangers. Anxieties and a whole new set of wonderfulness that it entails.

I will for now restrict myself to the eldest. Yesterday He passed his driving test.

Obviously people of all ages and in all parts of the world do this every day, but as everyone knows, to an adolescent it is the most important day of their life (thus far) and to a parent it is the proudest – and scariest- moment. In fact it is a mish mash of pride, emotion, fear and creeping feelings of decrepitude.

The 16 year old started having lessons with his dad several months ago. He did well (his father’s driving gene clearly having precedence over mine – I limped to a pass at the fourth attempt)

But how things have changed. The driving test from my day had strange and archaic things like emergency stops and hill starts. Today’s test apparently hangs on whether or not you check your mirrors in the left right direction in correct order or nudge the kerb while parallel parking (don’t think parallel parking was part of my test but I may be wrong, it was a long time ago)

Anyway, the poor boy failed on said kerb nudging and was understandably narked off. He was lent an advisory book on how to pass which horrified his father and myself, it just seemed so nit-pernikety as to be impossible to pass.

But to cut a long story short he did pass on the second attempt. I can’t quite describe how I felt. I had been feeling so unpleasantly nervous in the preceding hours. I desperately did not want him to be disappointed again, indeed I sent up a prayer that he would keep calm and take things slowly. THEN, back at my day job I read of some poor soul, aged 18, dead on the road, no doubt due to inexperience and bravado. I sent a sort of PS to my prayer (and I am not being flippant, and certainly mean no disrespect). I didn’t know quite how to word it. If he does pass, just keep him safe please I suppose was the gist of it.

That’s all we can do. But he was so happy.

(And he got into the First XI the same day.)
Rites of passage. You just don’t think it possible that so much time can pass.

Ends

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