This is my third one, so you’d think I’d be used to it.

“It” means having a new 15-year-old driver who just got her learner’s permit.

It’s sort of like childbirth.  You know there is an end to the pain, which translates to … after they turn 16, you never have to ride with them again.  But they say that you forget the pain of childbirth and I’ve never forgotten the pain of having a teenage driver in the family.  No, instead of being “used to it”, I’m terrified.  Again.

For those of you who have yet to experience this milestone in your child’s life, let me give you a couple of examples of what’s in store for you.

• Your child is at the wheel, driving down a two-lane country road.  “This is a safe place to practice,” you think.  She sees an oncoming car three miles away and begins to panic.  She hugs the right side of the road and takes out three mailboxes and two chickens in the process.
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• She is stopped in the left turn lane at a red light.  You explain that at this particular intersection, she must yield to the oncoming traffic.  The light turns green, and she guns it into the intersection, throwing you into cardiac arrest.  After completing the turn, she turns to you and asks, “What does yield mean, anyway?”
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• She is driving along a road with a 45-mph speed limit, doing pretty well.  She sees a car in the oncoming lane with its blinker on.  She stops dead in the street, waving the car to go in front of her, while throwing all the drivers behind her into cardiac arrest.  “What was that?” you ask, trying to pry your fingernails out of the upholstery.  “I was yielding,” is her answer.
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• She is driving you to the grocery store.  She says going to the grocery store sounds like fun.  (At this point in their lives, driving anywhere is considered fun.  Wait until they have done it for a while, though, and you can put it in the same category as cleaning up their rooms or emptying the litter box.)  All of a sudden, she lets out a huge scream, and your white knuckles become blue with pressure.  You brace yourself for the impact, and when there is none, you turn and ask through clenched teeth what happened.  “That was the hottest guy!” she squeals.
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• She has had her permit for three weeks.  She is an expert now.  She doesn’t understand why she can’t drive to the beach by herself.
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• After a near-death experience, you turn to her and try to calmly explain how that situation could have been avoided.  “Please don’t lecture me,” she says.
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• She finally turns 16.  Your insurance doubles.  In the first month after she begins driving by herself, she backs into another car (“It wasn’t there when I got here”), she tears the running board off the truck (“I didn’t realize how far out they stuck”), and breaks the rear-view mirror going through McDonalds (“I BARELY hit the pole … it must have been loose already”).  You learn that if you report these things to your insurance company, they will drop her.

So, anyway, that’s my frame of mind right now.  If you see me driving around with my new-driving-daughter, just smile and wave.

If I don’t wave back, it’s because my fingernails are dug into the dashboard.