I spent my career as a steely-eyed killer of the deep-- a silent hunter trained to deliver sudden death via nuclear missiles or torpedoes. I learned all about surviving on station and calmly reacting to crises with coordinated teamwork. Later I became an expert instructor of high-risk training in firefighting and flooding emergencies and I taught hundreds of Navy instructors how to run their own training programs. I didn't laugh in the face of danger but I certainly smirked a few times, and I think I know how to teach.
However in the last five months I've learned the true meaning of constant fear sprinkled with abject terror. And apparently I'm the most clueless teacher on the planet.
Yes, I'm the parent of a teenager with a driving permit.
The first stage of learning to drive can best be described as "abject paralysis". Our kid was scared of anything with closing relative motion, especially if it had legs or an engine. The wheel was clutched with ivory-white knuckles. The gas pedal was treated as a weapon of mass acceleration. Intersections were filled with terror, approached at 10 MPH, and only crossed when the light had been green for at least five seconds and everything else within 100 yards had stopped moving. (Think of Bambi creeping into a forest clearing.) Speed limits were treated with a safety factor of at least 2:1. The licensed adult driver was consulted every quarter-mile and before any course/speed change. "Blanking out" and "freezing" were common, as was random braking. Parents expected to be rammed from behind at every curve. Professional driving instructors deserve hazardous-duty pay.
That first stage may seem pretty bad but it's nothing compared to the second stage: "loss of all fear". By this point our supremely confident teen, unblemished and immortal, had memorized the driver's manual and learned that everything had to obey the rules of the road. Jackrabbits scrambled to keep up with our green-light acceleration, speed limits were redlined until the last possible braking moment, and no break in the traffic was too small for an abrupt lane change. Every other driver was subject to withering critiques of their technique (or lack thereof). Mistakes may have been made but our driver was never in doubt-- "Hey, I had the right-of-way!! Didn't I?!?"
The third stage, however, is the most insidiously dangerous of all. By now, the (surviving) parents have decided that all the screaming & crying is over. Not only are they drained and finally regaining their composure, but their teens are much more consistent. The "Law of Gross Tonnage" is appreciated, lane changes are no longer filled with piñata-style suspense or impacts, they use their mirrors, and they almost always remember to check the blind spots. Life is good… until the parent realizes that they've been lulled into a sense of false security. The new driver has merely advanced to spicing up hours of boring routine with microseconds of screeching brakes, blaring horns, and screams of fright. "Where did that come from? It wasn't there a second ago!!"
We may be stuck in stage three for now, but luckily we're only 32 days away from the road test so I may never have to deal with the fourth stage: blasé boredom and overconfidence coupled with contempt for the instructor. "This is no fun anymore, what do you mean I can't turn on the radio?" "My foot gets tired, why shouldn't I use the cruise control?" "My cell phone is ringing, that might be Jacob!" "Hey, look, a Starbucks drive-through!"
Just when you think things can't get any worse, and that the light at the end of the tunnel will always be in your lane, you realize that the road test requires a demonstration of parallel parking.
I don't know about you guys, but when my teen driver parks in parallel I have my hands full with the student-- let alone all the uncontrollable environmental factors. Even if you're lucky enough to find a reasonably large space at the curb it's still hard to also keep an eye on the passing traffic, the fenders of your car, the fenders of the other cars fore & aft, the pedestrian, the mailbox, the lamppost, what gear we're in, which pedal the foot is on, the guy who drives right up behind you and blocks the space, and the nice police officer strolling over to offer helpful advice. Hey, that was fun, let's try it all again! And again! And again...
So we finally measured the parking spaces along the route of the road test (17 feet long, 7.5 feet wide). We set up our own space in a cul-de-sac so there's no traffic and no other parked cars. Training aids include red duct tape on the road (I'm all out of white), two large trash cans (heavy-gauge plastic), and a handy lava-rock mailbox pillar. Technically I'm supposed to be sitting in the front passenger seat, but I temporarily shifted my command to a driveway chair while the car turns circles within 100 feet of my station. And I could take photos.
We learned that we needed to make one minor change by moving the trash cans 20 feet apart instead of 17 feet. An hour later, parallel parking is going much more smoothly. The driver's focus is on the mechanics without all the accompanying hazards. The driver's eyeball is much more calibrated to the size of the hole, the approach, and the effects of rudder & propulsion on advance & transfer. Both sideview mirrors are now used. We both appreciate not having a front-seat driver offering helpful suggestions. I appreciate not having to say anything until the pier landing is over and all lines are secured.
I think this is all going to work out OK. But if you're planning a trip to Oahu, you might want to hold off until early 2009 when all the other local drivers have been able to relax too…
.
.
However in the last five months I've learned the true meaning of constant fear sprinkled with abject terror. And apparently I'm the most clueless teacher on the planet.
Yes, I'm the parent of a teenager with a driving permit.
The first stage of learning to drive can best be described as "abject paralysis". Our kid was scared of anything with closing relative motion, especially if it had legs or an engine. The wheel was clutched with ivory-white knuckles. The gas pedal was treated as a weapon of mass acceleration. Intersections were filled with terror, approached at 10 MPH, and only crossed when the light had been green for at least five seconds and everything else within 100 yards had stopped moving. (Think of Bambi creeping into a forest clearing.) Speed limits were treated with a safety factor of at least 2:1. The licensed adult driver was consulted every quarter-mile and before any course/speed change. "Blanking out" and "freezing" were common, as was random braking. Parents expected to be rammed from behind at every curve. Professional driving instructors deserve hazardous-duty pay.
That first stage may seem pretty bad but it's nothing compared to the second stage: "loss of all fear". By this point our supremely confident teen, unblemished and immortal, had memorized the driver's manual and learned that everything had to obey the rules of the road. Jackrabbits scrambled to keep up with our green-light acceleration, speed limits were redlined until the last possible braking moment, and no break in the traffic was too small for an abrupt lane change. Every other driver was subject to withering critiques of their technique (or lack thereof). Mistakes may have been made but our driver was never in doubt-- "Hey, I had the right-of-way!! Didn't I?!?"
The third stage, however, is the most insidiously dangerous of all. By now, the (surviving) parents have decided that all the screaming & crying is over. Not only are they drained and finally regaining their composure, but their teens are much more consistent. The "Law of Gross Tonnage" is appreciated, lane changes are no longer filled with piñata-style suspense or impacts, they use their mirrors, and they almost always remember to check the blind spots. Life is good… until the parent realizes that they've been lulled into a sense of false security. The new driver has merely advanced to spicing up hours of boring routine with microseconds of screeching brakes, blaring horns, and screams of fright. "Where did that come from? It wasn't there a second ago!!"
We may be stuck in stage three for now, but luckily we're only 32 days away from the road test so I may never have to deal with the fourth stage: blasé boredom and overconfidence coupled with contempt for the instructor. "This is no fun anymore, what do you mean I can't turn on the radio?" "My foot gets tired, why shouldn't I use the cruise control?" "My cell phone is ringing, that might be Jacob!" "Hey, look, a Starbucks drive-through!"
Just when you think things can't get any worse, and that the light at the end of the tunnel will always be in your lane, you realize that the road test requires a demonstration of parallel parking.
I don't know about you guys, but when my teen driver parks in parallel I have my hands full with the student-- let alone all the uncontrollable environmental factors. Even if you're lucky enough to find a reasonably large space at the curb it's still hard to also keep an eye on the passing traffic, the fenders of your car, the fenders of the other cars fore & aft, the pedestrian, the mailbox, the lamppost, what gear we're in, which pedal the foot is on, the guy who drives right up behind you and blocks the space, and the nice police officer strolling over to offer helpful advice. Hey, that was fun, let's try it all again! And again! And again...
So we finally measured the parking spaces along the route of the road test (17 feet long, 7.5 feet wide). We set up our own space in a cul-de-sac so there's no traffic and no other parked cars. Training aids include red duct tape on the road (I'm all out of white), two large trash cans (heavy-gauge plastic), and a handy lava-rock mailbox pillar. Technically I'm supposed to be sitting in the front passenger seat, but I temporarily shifted my command to a driveway chair while the car turns circles within 100 feet of my station. And I could take photos.
We learned that we needed to make one minor change by moving the trash cans 20 feet apart instead of 17 feet. An hour later, parallel parking is going much more smoothly. The driver's focus is on the mechanics without all the accompanying hazards. The driver's eyeball is much more calibrated to the size of the hole, the approach, and the effects of rudder & propulsion on advance & transfer. Both sideview mirrors are now used. We both appreciate not having a front-seat driver offering helpful suggestions. I appreciate not having to say anything until the pier landing is over and all lines are secured.
I think this is all going to work out OK. But if you're planning a trip to Oahu, you might want to hold off until early 2009 when all the other local drivers have been able to relax too…
.
.
