Pathfinder General

There’s a lot more to getting your first car than just the driving.  After Cheyenneh learned how to drive stick and learned, for the most part, how to stop and start on hills, we thought we were done.  You’re never done.  We never learn. 

The first day of driving, she went to school and back.  She went to friends’ houses and back.  She had a homework session at Starbucks.  She came home safely.

The second day she went on an errand.  She called five minutes after she left.  “I ran into something,” she says.  “I crashed my car.”

“I’ll be right over,” Charlie says.

“Are you okay?” I ask.  “How bad is it?”

“There’s like a little mark, like a scratch on the driver’s side bumper.  I don’t know; it might have been there before.”

“That was there.”

“Oh, good,” she said.  “Is Charlie going to get here soon?  I have plans.”

“I could have got out of the car and yelled at her,” Charlie said when he returned.  “What good would that do?  I gave her a hug. 

“I thought about it.  She’s almost backed into poles, other cars and walls.  She runs over the garbage cans almost every time she pulls out of the driveway.  She knows they’re plastic and won’t scratch her car, so she laughs and drives off.  She doesn’t even pick them up.  ‘That’s man’s work,’ she says.  ‘I’m not doing that.’

<>“She makes a tight turn where there’s something close.  Instead of backing up and getting more space, she closes her eyes and drives through it.  When she doesn’t hit anything she says ‘phew!’.” 

I haven’t yet looked at the back of her Pathfinder.  I’d like to, but she’s never home.  I would be doing all this driving, so I’m not complaining.

We took her to counseling with us.  Our counseling, like us, is chaotic and informal.  Our counselor is a blunt-speaking financial planner who used to be a Pastor.  He’s got ADD, as do Charlie and I, so we talk all at once, quickly. 

This should be interesting adding Cheyenneh.  She can talk in circles around all of us.

“I’m good,” she says.  “Do you know how much trouble I could get into?  Nobody follows the six-month rule.” 

The six-month rule is Oregonian for having to wait six months after you get your license before you’re allowed to drive with non-relatives. 

“You’re right,” Charlie says.  “Nobody follows it.  But you should.”

“My brother didn’t.”

“That was strictly for educational purposes.  He had to drive his friends to school,” Charlie said.  “It didn’t look suspicious because the Vegan is so much taller than his friends.  At first we made his friends lie down in the back and tell people they were sick.”

“While you talk about all the dumb excuses you just made, I’m going to the bathroom,” she says.

Jim, our counselor, says, “What’s the problem with her driving friends?”

”What’s the problem if she breaks the law?” Charlie says.  “I’m the law.”

“Nobody follows the provisional rule.”

“She might get distracted.”

“The weekend I got my license,” Jim said.  “I drove ten kids to the beach at about 100 mph.  I could have killed everyone.”

“As soon as I got my car it was like an Open House,” Charlie said.  “All my friends jumped in everywhere.  They were sitting on each other’s laps, in the trunk; I had about 20 people in my little Metropolitan Rambler.  It was like a scene from a South American travel show, where every square inch of the roof is filled with people just hanging on.”

“Am I the only normal one?” I said.

“What’s the worst thing that could happen?”

“She’d get a ticket,” Charlie said.  “It’s illegal.”

“If she pays it, she learns, right?”

“Yeah, but I’d be the one approving the report on her citation.”

“Make an agreement with her to drive safely and responsibly,” Jim said.  “That includes not having kids in the car.  If she disobeys, she has to pay the consequences.”

The General returned to hear we’d trust her.  “Okay, that’s good,” she said.  “Just so you know, I’m going right now to pick up Nicci.  Her Mom thinks I’m an excellent driver.”

“I don’t want to know,” Charlie says.

“I’d think you’d want extra people in the car to see if I’m running into anything.”

See if we ever bring her to counseling again. 

Thanksgiving was the sixth day of Pathfinder General.  Since the only thing you can sit on in our house is a Goodwill-reject couch big enough for two people max, we’re having dinner at a friend’s house.  The General insisted on driving.  “Look how good I am,” she said.  “Last time I drove here, I ran an old man in an Oldsmobile off the road.  Remember?”

She swung her keys and acted impatient, like teenagers do when they’re with their parents, especially when their parents are having fun.  After several dozen sighs and hints, we let her drive us home.  She didn’t even slide backwards when she stopped on a hill.

She insisted on pulling in the garage and immediately began to armor-all the Pathfinder.  She spent an hour out there, at least.  After that she pulled out the shop-vac from its home in the kitchen and started it up.  She tripped the breaker about a dozen times, but kept going.  She must have really wanted to get the smell of parents out of her car.

“Just so you know,” she said, “I’m taking Jessi to hang out with the L.O. guys.”

“We don’t want to know,” Charlie said. 

She called about an hour later.  “I’m parking in the garage tonight,” she said.  “When anyone gets a car, there’s this tradition of trashing it.  They messed up one girl’s windshield so bad it had to be replaced.  It’s out of control.

“Where’s your car now?”

“It’s safe,” she said.  “When we got here, the L.O. guys said, ‘How do you like your eggs, Cheyenneh?  Scrambled?  Hard-boiled?  On your car?’

“Jessi called some other, bigger guys and said, ‘Come over here now.  They’re going to egg Cheyenneh’s car.’

“Right now there’s a bunch of Juniors hanging around outside by my car.  They’ve been there for a half an hour until we decide to go.”

Starting and stopping on hills was the easy part.

A little help? [] 12:17:43 PM