Jan Stafford Kellis

aging (slowly and bravely)

My Baby’s Driving!

My youngest child just received her driver’s license. She passed the driving test with flying colors despite her inherent anxiety (yes, she takes after me) and she’s piloting our old Toyota Tundra around the Village, displaying the company name and hopefully drawing some business. Who wouldn’t want to hire a construction company with such a cute advertiser?

There are a few other benefits to leaving the company name plastered on our daughter’s truck: she can never say “it wasn’t me” when someone spies her truck at a party or friend’s house; the police or any other concerned citizen can easily dial her mom to report her driving habits, since the phone number is prominently displayed on three sides; and the truck is noticeable even to those half-asleep, allowing ease in tracking her progress around town. In a town this size people will call me to report my children’s driving transgressions anyway, but with our blatantly labeled truck, my youngest daughter can’t drive around the block without someone calling to let me know who she’s with, which way they were headed, and if she used her turn signals (she always does). Just another way living in a small town provides peace of mind for parents of teenagers (this position is preferable, by the way, to being a teenaged parent), ensuring we don’t go insane too quickly.