Once upon a time I drove a spiffy red convertible. When the occasion
called for a nice right turn, I made one. Ditto for the left maneuvers, straight-aheads
and the periodic zig-zag.
That was before "The Permit" was obtained. Since then, I have been
relegated to passenger status, unwittingly holding side-seat control over The
Permitholder.
The Permitholder, a.k.a, The Girl, has been awarded all sorts of legal rights
to terrorize drivers around Ohio for doing nothing but turning 15 and a half and answering
a few questions on a state-issued exam, such as
"What does this sign mean?" 
She aced the exam; she usually handles the written stuff pretty easily.
The practical tidbits, like actually stopping when she sees one of those signs
is an entirely different matter. I'd probably worry less about the at-large
driving community if we hadn't run into a couple of her 15.5-year-old friends
from town, Kyle and Ryan, at the license bureau, also "earning" their temps.
(They too properly answered such stunners such as, when does a blind person have
the right-of-way? Answer: when he/she is carrying a cane with a white tip.
Personally, I think it's just proper courtesy to afford anyone with a cane a
little right-of-way.)
For parents who have not yet experienced the joy of teaching an
offspring to drive, let me say: hahahaha, those hairs left on your head? Yeah,
kiss those babies goodbye.
It's not The Girl's fault. With absolutely no driving experience
whatsoever, she is tossed out onto roads, big and small, and expected to
account for all the idiot drivers out there (minus one, I'm now in the passenger
seat, remember). I didn't have this problem when The Boy started, but I later
learned he was tearing up the roads at age 14 with my father, when he was sent
to vacation in Florida. Asked later what he would have done if he were pulled
over, he answered in perfect Ohio diction: "Tell them I'm from Georgia."
I would have thought with all the side seat experience my daughter's had
from driving with me, she would have understood that the guy in the next lane is
a #@!*ing a#!*$% as is the moron behind us and the jerk ahead of us.
"You need to fear everyone on the road," I tell her.
I may have had it backwards. By the end of the first day, she narrowly
missed 17 parked vehicles in Lakewood, six pedestrians in Avon and a suicidal
squirrel in Avon Lake. I have begun to refer to our daily drives as "death
rides."
The signs give her trouble, including the "Avon Lake Specials"
on every corner.
"IT SAYS ONE LANE AHEAD!!!" I tell her, grabbing the holikrap bar and
bracing for a mishap. "How am I supposed to see it over there!" she said. "I'm
supposed to keep my eyes on the road!"
It's been two weeks now, and I'm happy to report The Girl is now an
expert driver. She zigs. She zags. She merges into traffic like it's her job.
But a little tip to you folks out there: If you see a red convertible with a mere child behind
the wheel, she is in fact legal. Just use a little 
.
