The Third Driver
Newsletter 2025-11-05
Betsy is driving. This is both my dream come true and worst nightmare. I’ve desperately looked forward to the day when she would get her learner’s permit, which is a harbinger of the end of my duties as her taxi driver. Conversely, I’m now faced with the reality of Betsy being behind the wheel of two tons of steel. Someone has to sit in the passenger seat as she drives for her first fifty hours. That someone is me. I’d like to say it’s because I’m the calmer and more understanding of her two parents, but really it’s because I’m more expendable. Mom must be protected at all costs. She deserves her own Secret Service detail. Training Betsy to drive at five miles per hour is more exhilarating and terrifying than any gigacoaster at a premier theme park. With her, there are no rails. Even the slightest mistake can lead to thousands of dollars in damages. I won’t tell her any of that lest I make her more scared than she already is. I’m going to turn her into a safe, responsible driver—or die trying. If these emails suddenly stop, you’ll know it was the latter.
Betsy finally got her learner’s permit at the start of fall break. She could have gotten it as soon as she was enrolled in driver’s ed, which I signed her up for the day she turned fifteen. I logged onto that website the first second I could like I was trying to buy Taylor Swift tickets. The only obstacle standing between Betsy and her learner’s permit was a test. She would need to pass a written exam before being trusted to drive under paternal supervision. It made sense to me that she should take most if not all of her online driver’s ed class before attempting it. And just like that, the next five months disappeared. She’s a good student who’s great at procrastination. My genetic legacy to her is all of my worst habits. She was busy all summer with cross country practice and a different class that was for a grade. The online driver’s ed course didn’t have a deadline. Naturally, it slipped. Betsy didn’t get around to it until I set a deadline of my own. I told her that, no matter what, she was taking the learner’s permit test at the start of fall break. If she failed, she would take it again the next day and the day after that until she passed. She had a friend who brute-forced her way through it like that without taking a single second of driver’s ed beyond signing up for the class. If she could get her learner’s permit, so could Betsy. When there’s no consequence for failure, there’s no stopping us.
Betsy didn’t need to brute-force anything. When we finally got to the BMV, she passed the test on her first try. The only failure that day was on me. I showed up without one of the necessary documents, despite carefully reviewing the list of requirements beforehand. I go into every encounter with the BMV expecting to be sent home at least once. The most important job of state government is rejecting me. I drove home to retrieve the missing document, then took Betsy straight back to the branch. She passed her test, had her picture taken, and received a temporary paper permit that would be replaced by a plastic one coming in the mail. When we walked out of the BMV that day, she could legally drive as long as I was in the van with her. It was a whole new world.
I live an existence of instant gratification. As soon as Betsy had that temporary permit in her hand, I took her driving. I was excited, but I was also aware of all the delays we’d faced up to this point. I was afraid that if I put off teaching her, her procrastination and mine would combine into a Voltron of delay tactics that would keep her from driving until she was thirty. Instead of going home, I drove to the cemetery. It was a place with plenty of roads and little traffic. Graveyards seldom have much of a rush hour. I parked and switched spots with Betsy. This was the moment of truth. She adjusted every setting on the seat and the mirrors. I fully supported her taking her time. If she couldn’t see or reach the pedals, this would be a short trip.
Finally, she put the van in gear. We pulled forward—slowly. We were going faster than forward idle, but not by much. That was ideal. The last thing she’d driven was a Power Wheels Barbie Jeep. She was a natural as a kindergarten motorist. She only sometimes ran into her sisters. When she did, I’m fairly certain it was intentional. Those days were far behind her. Now, she was behind the wheel of God’s greatest creation, a minivan, which left her far less room to maneuver. In my mind, it’s a nimble vehicle, but in reality, it has roughly the same dimensions as a giant SUV. It’s one small step away from being a school bus. That was what I now expected Betsy to weave through the cemetery. I hoped she was up to the challenge. Otherwise, her first drive was about to get very expensive.
We made our first lap at the break neck speed of five miles an hour. My nerves couldn’t have handled her going much faster. At slow speeds, she was great. She skillfully navigated all turns on a geological time scale. Still, I was on edge. The cemetery seemed like a great way to avoid traffic. I neglected to consider other types of obstacles. There were literally thousands of square stones sticking up from the earth. I also forgot that we were in my nice, newish van and not the eight-year-old one that will be assigned to her. She can play bumper cars in that one if she wants. I don’t intend to repair any cosmetic damage. She’ll take all vehicular battle scars with her when she leaves for college. If it’s dinged up enough, maybe she won’t leave at all. Having an embarrassingly battered car is the perfect reason to take online classes and avoid campus.
We wrapped up our cemetery driving session after about an hour. There were a few instances when she got a little closer to the headstones than I would have liked, but she was otherwise perfect. It’s hard to make too many mistakes when the van is basically standing still. Afterwards, she bragged that she didn’t kill anyone. That’s because we were in the cemetery. Everyone was already dead. One hour down. Forty-nine left to go.
Unlike with the online portion of driver’s ed, which bored Betsy to tears, she was actually eager to get behind the wheel. She asked me if we could go driving again that Saturday. I readily agreed. This time, we took Betsy’s designated van. I drove us to the park. I wanted Betsy to have the additional challenge of facing people above the ground. Hopefully she wouldn’t put them under. I parked and handed over the driver’s seat to Betsy. She made her usual adjustments, then took off. This time, we were traveling at a blistering fifteen miles per hour. Betsy did well to keep the van under control. She might have a future as an F1 driver. I expect them to add a minivan division soon.
The park had some challenges I didn’t expect. A few intersections were poorly marked. With no street signs in any direction, all sides should have technically yielded, but in practice one direction would keep going. Betsy asked what she should do. I told her, when in doubt, stop. That girl will be slamming on the brakes in her dreams. The park also featured a fake roundabout. There’s a circle of roads around a gazebo. Some people treat it like a roundabout, while others handle it like there’s a normal two-way road on each side. There are no signs indicating which approach is right. The only thing I could tell Betsy was to drive defensively. Avoiding other cars solves nearly every problem on the road. That’s especially true if you’re avoiding the police.
Things didn’t get scary until the drive home.
