YOU DEVELOP AN INTIMACY WITH ASPHALT. | We had to face it: our kids were going to be driving at some point. I've always had an uncomfortable feeling about cars that strive to make us forget what they are. It's easy to start believing that a car is a living room, a wi-fi cafe, a La-Z-Boy, a snack bar, or a mobile office -- and forget that it is, to borrow Tom Wolfe's memorable phrase, a 'hurtling piece of machinery.' How are young drivers supposed to pay attention to the actual driving part when the entire experience clamors with so many competing identities? "Hit the cruise control! Turn up the music! Put a drink in the cupholder! Tilt the seat back just a little more..." In a culture in which the very act of being present, of living in the moment, seems positively revolutionary, how do we teach them to be present while piloting a hurtling piece of machinery? Add to this problem the issue of coolness as perceived by high schoolers, and you've got yourself a humdinger. And then what about the constant temptation to check on texts, SnapChats and the rest? To the early owners of telephones, every call was a spectacular event. But before long, everyone was investing in technology to help them avoid having to answer the damn thing, and even having to hear it ring. We're still in the infancy of social media and texting, if you think about it. My kids and their peers considerate it a serious offense if they don't respond right away. They haven't yet felt the exquisite pleasure of practiced avoidance! So this, then, is my terrible and flawed advice to parents of burgeoning teens: Find an old, 2-door, standard-transmission Jeep Wrangler. Here's what we've discovered:
But really, it's an age-old question. Should we make absolutely certain that our children never take a spill at the playground, or should we presume that tumbling off the jungle gym once or twice is critical to developing good coordination? Some say that a father will traditionally tend to see value in those scuffs and scrapes, and that a mother will traditionally try to get through parenting without seeing any blood. Of course, playgrounds are now made of recycled rubber particles and bark, so they don't bite like they used to. But I figure my kids will be driving cushy cars soon enough; while in my care I think they should have an aggressively reality-based experience of driving to get them started. We all need to feel the asphalt once or twice to get our bearings, don't we? |