Slow on the curves

"Let go," the teenager instructed as we rounded the corner.

For a moment, I didn't register that she was talking to me. Her eyes hadn't left the road as she steered the car along the winding country road.

Everything was going as smoothly as possible in our beat-up, old family station wagon. Her hands were firmly planted at "9 and 3"... a clock that had shifted an hour in the years since my parents had taught me.

And yet, one of my hands was gripping the seat while the other was curled painfully around that hinged handle on the roof of the car that seemingly has no other use than to appease a mother's inner panic.

"You are bracing. Again!"

I had to admit, seeing my hand gripping the odd suitcase handle above the door frame was a surprise.

Pandemic times notwithstanding, I had the sense I was finally getting a better handle on being chauffeured around the county by my newly permitted daughter than I used to.

She'd gone past the tricky intersection where local

tradition dictates that all drivers must stop except the ones turning left from the East.

"Why is that" she wondered.

And as per usual, I had many words but no solid answer. 

"Some places are just that way ... Take the traffic circle at the end of the road here for example. It's the only one I know of where the cars inside of the roundabout don't have the right of way. I think it has to do with the circle's proximity to the railroad crossing, and how no one wants there to be a backup that leaves a car waiting on train tracks. But who really knows?"

Of course, here in the car – the radio off for safety and concentration's sake – she has to heed my words, even when they don't seem to go anywhere.

More to the point, she has to admit when she doesn't understand something.

"I need you to talk me through this traffic circle coming up. Is that stop sign for me? Which is harder again, a left turn or a right?"

And who would have thought the tough part would be getting up to speed? Literally. Certainly not me.

She's even surprised herself. Gaining exponentially in skill and confidence in the few months she's been practicing. Navigating to school, and making her way smoothly through circles and spelling out Y turns in parking lots as if she'd been driving in cursive.

She's even agreed to practice operating the standard transmission sedan I insisted on buying as our new family vehicle, back when driving from one place to another seemed more necessary than just novel.

Even that learning curve is flattening out. 

As we drive around today, she even praises my almost impressive lack of parental flinch.

After all, it had been more than a few minutes since I'd given her any instruction, necessary or otherwise. We'd already covered which car had the right-of-way at any given intersection and why other parents giving their kids cars outright has absolutely no effect on me.

Yes, we've come to this cliff, and needless to say, we're not planning on jumping off of it.