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My Father Made Me Do It
What do you do when you realize a parent is using you?
In my hometown, getting your “Learners,” meant you could drive with someone over 21 years old in the car — usually a nervous parent. Provided you didn’t hit anything, and sometimes, even if you did, your “learner’s permit” was followed by your driver’s permit when you turned 16 and passed a driving test. In the country, having access to a car was a life-changing rite of passage with immediate benefits.
Most parents, weary from hauling their kids to and from practices and club meetings, were happy about the freedom they’d experience when their children could drive themselves.
On the day you received your driver’s license, you had to sit in the local courtroom with a group of other 16-year-olds, and listen to the judge give a speech about responsibility.
Before the speech, you sat on the wooden court bench and listened to a few sentencing hearings. In retrospect, someone must have planned it that way. We grew up in a small town, so small I watched a guy I’d kissed in the first grade get sentenced for stealing a truck from the local power company.
A late-night practice session.
“Come on, Chris, let’s go practice your driving.”