August 2003 - DeVere at Large Wow, Indeed! Dad, was that a complete stop?" asked Driving Daughter.Extraordinary. I have counted 25 cars in a row, including four law enforcement vehicles, either changing lanes or turning, that obviously have broken turn signals. I think there should be a national recall. All cars and trucks, say from 1937-2003, should have those things fixed. “Dad! Don’t zone out on me. I need backing up, parallel parking, correct passing procedures, the works. Pay attention!” Driving Daughter demanded. I snapped out of it. Yes, that was a complete stop. We may now proceed out of the parking lot and head home. And don’t forget your turn signal! “I never do, Dad!” Driving Daughter said rather forcefully. Of course not, I replied in as fatherly a manner as I could. We had been practicing driving in reverse in an empty parking lot.

Our twins received their driving permits a few months ago. It was now impossible to go anywhere in an automobile without hearing that famous phrase, “Can I drive?” “I’m never going to learn this!” Doubtful Daughter ranted as we practiced backing into our driveway. “Why is my brother a better driver than me!” Depressed Daughter moaned as she handed me the keys. I reminded her that her brother had been driving something since he was two. His first career choice was to drive a garbage truck (3-7 years old), which was followed by dreams of his own 18-wheeler (8-11 years old), to owning his own fleet (12-14 years old). The majority of his toys had at least four wheels since he was two. Also, every electronic game we rented or purchased for him had something to do with cars, even if the purpose of the game was to smash them up. His bedroom walls are now plastered with posters of various exotic cars. Daughter, how many car games have you played lately? “Still ...” Darling Daughter sniffled a bit. BUT, I said, he is a young man. And young men have the very poor habits of being overconfident and impatient when seated behind a steering wheel. Unfortunately, it often happens that such qualities last until these boys are in their sixties. You’ll do fine, dear. As we entered the kitchen, my bride requested a quick run to the grocery for milk. Soaring Son flew through the kitchen, ripped the car keys from my hand, and yelled, “I’ll drive!” “Seat belts, Dad!” Impatient Son demanded. I hadn’t quite opened the door to get in yet. He had already done his walk-around. Airplane pilots have nothing on this kid. Tire pressure: check. Windshield wiper fluid: check. Oil level: check. Mirrors: check. He would do this when he moved the car from one side of the driveway to the other. “Dad, was that O.K.?” Serious Son asked. Watch your speed. Both hands on the wheel. Physically turn your head when you plan to change lanes. No radio. Forget the chicks. Concentrate. “Dad! You’re getting weird. We haven’t left the driveway.” Fine. So I get a little paranoid. Just keep in mind, we live in a community with an exceptionally diverse group of drivers. Some are older and prefer a slower speed than the rest of us. Yes, it is frustrating when they are in the fast lane, but live with it. Also, there are more cell phones per capita in our little tow than most major metropolitan areas. Talking and turning are tough. Talking and turning and USING YOUR BLOODY TURN SIGNAL are virtually impossible. You may honk at those #%^*&* # persons! “Take it easy, Dad. I saw him try to cut across,” said Smiling Son, who had just forced a driver to stay in his lane at the traffic circle. We made it safely home with the milk. He parked perfectly. As he flipped me the keys, all smiles (he was actually bringing in the milk!), I pondered on my newly renovated driving habits: two hands on the wheel, complete stops, seat belts, turn signals, and courtesy (i.e., allowing tourists to cross with the bikes on busy roads). I also remembered the day in 1960 when it happened. My older brother came to pick me up at boarding school. We had a semester break or something. He was driving his very own mint green, 1949 Plymouth sedan. Whoa. He was a freshman at Purdue. How cool was that? He pulled up to the school’s entrance and helped me load my stuff. I looked at him. He looked at me. And I asked, “Can I drive? ™ Paul DeVere