"I had to quit my taxi cab driving job because I had no way to get to work.
The problem was I kept calling myself to come pick me up."
-- Jarod Kintz, I Should Have Renamed This
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| Crushing a taxi under my boot heel 6-3-14 |
"Cosmo, call me a cab."
"OK, you're a cab."
--"Don Lockwood" and "Cosmo Brown,"
Singin' In The Rain
Drop off. Pick up. Drop off. Repeat.
Yesterday was Leo's 16th birthday, which means today he should be getting his driver's license, which means my days as his taxi driver are finally over.
(Insert sound of singing angels here.)
It also means I get my car back all to myself, because Leo is getting his own. He's been using mine to practice his driving for the past several months. Which is fine. Whatever.
The thing that really makes me crazy, though, is that every time he drives my car he readjusts the seat and wheel so extremely to accommodate his much-bigger-than-me frame, that when I step back into the driver's seat I feel like I'm tumbling backwards into a very deep hole.
Also, I really love driving my little car and am tired of being relegated to the passenger seat all the time or hearing "Mom, can you come get me?" when I'm completely covered in body paint or the glue on my fake beard has just finally set up.
No more scheduling my appointments around someone else's busy schedule.
No more hearing that exasperated teen-boy sigh when I tell him "You'll have to find a ride tomorrow."
I'd like to give a huge One Good Thing Taxi Driver Shout Out to my husband, who's borne a huge share of the taxi duties, to Sam, who drove Miss Daisy a shit ton before he left for college, and to all of Leo's buddies who've given him countless rides and helped a sister out -- Ty, Mikey, Preston -- I owe all of you guys a fat juicy steak.
Despite all of my grumblings here, I am extremely proud of Leo for practicing hard and earning the privilege and responsibility of having a driver's license. He's also been extremely patient. He's one of the youngest guys in his class, which means his friends have already been driving all year while he's been stuck thumbing rides and waiting for his mommy to come pick him up.
So it hasn't been easy for him either.
All kidding aside, though, I will miss the time we've spent together, just us two, running errands and going no place in particular so he could log his driving hours, cracking me up with his endless rambling stories and terrible jokes, sunroof open, blasting Creedence on the CD player, me lecturing him on lane changes or defensive driving or blind spots or how to navigate the car wash. Him saying "Mom, I know!"
A whole lot of significance will be packed into that split second later today, when he looks up at the camera and it snaps a shitty little portrait of him at the most important moment of his young life so far. I feel extremely lucky that I get to be the one who is there to bear witness for him.
It'll be sweet for both of us.
It'll be a little tender for one of us.
You're finally free, kid.
You can get into your own car, and drive where you want to, when you want to.
So can I.
