Sweet Sixteen Addiction
By Patt Elmore

To your dismay, you started back to high school this fall, only to
discover that many of your friends turned sixteen over vacation and are
already driving--just not fair!

Now, finally, it is your turn.  You've studied the manual until your eyes
hurt.  You can identify street signs in your sleep.  You know which way
to turn the wheels when forced to park on a grade . . . or do you?  Oh,
gosh.  You hand in the sweat soaked booklet and hope for the best.

Of course, the written exam has taken you so long that the line is out
the door by the time you finish.  Also, because it is nearing winter, the
days are much shorter.  It is already dusk.

Sitting in the stuffy room with all those who share your birthday, you
wait for your turn behind the wheel.  Several people's names are called
before you -- adult types who only have to look into an eye-tester
machine and flash their old license to get a new one.

Finally, they call your name.  Your mother smiles at you reassuringly as
you take the keys and walk to meet the traffic officer who will decide
your fate this evening.

A side door opens as you go down the hall and a tall, imposing figure
emerges.  He is dressed in a well-fitted black uniform and holds a
standard issue clipboard.  He *must* be your instructor.  He pauses as
you approach and lifts his dark sunglasses to better view you.  You see a
flash of blue eyes, the color of a summer sky after a storm.  

"Nunkies!" you can hardly control the mixture of joy, anguish and dread
which suddenly floods through you.  "Are you my driving tester?!!"

"But, of course, mon petite," he smiles, but sobers quickly.  "If you are
ever to have access to the Jaguar, I must be ascertained that you are
able to handle an automobile properly.  Shall we go?"

As you approach your mother's van, you suddenly wish you'd obeyed her
wishes and vacuumed it out the prior weekend.  Also, you dearly hope the
dobbing of bubblegum under the passenger seat doesn't come dislodged
while Nunkies is present.  Sheesh.

You climb into the driver's seat and position both hands on the wheel. 
You remember something, and quickly click your seat belt and shoulder
strap into place.  LaCroix smiles approvingly.  

"Please start the engine and pull out of the driveway in a smooth
manner," his smooth voice instructs you.  "Turn left at the street and
proceed to the intersection."

You engage the ignition and do as told.  You brake smoothly and can't
stifle a small smirk.  From the corner of your eyes, you notice that
Nunkies is noting something on the clip board.  Did you do something
wrong?  The smirk fades and you face forward, frozen.

"Turn right and proceed one block, to the four-way stop, young woman," he
voice is all-business and you immediately do as you've been told.  You
arrive at the intersection as the same time as a little green pick-up
truck.  The truck is on your right, so you politely wait, giving him the
right of way.

"Though I normally do not condone passivity, your response was correct in
this situation.  Please turn left and proceed one block.  Pull into the
library parking lot, when you arrive there."

Again, you do as you are instructed.  At the library lot, Nunkies
instructs you in a series of turns and backing exercises.  He makes more
notes on the clip board and then tells you to exit the parking lot and
head downtown.

The business section is deserted, as most of the workers have gone home
for the day.  Good thing, too, because the exercise you have most dreaded
is now to take place.  He chooses a spot, which does not endanger other
vehicles--only a mail box and a fire hydrant.

"Please demonstrate you skill at parallel parking, young Mids."  When
Nunkies says you name, you feel meltdown pending.  Your fingers whiten on
the wheel and you are suddenly unable to concentrate on rear view mirrors
and distance ratios.  

You finally manage to pull the van up even with the blue/red letter
receptacle and then cut the wheel to the left.  Your rear tires cut to
the left too.  NO.  Not right!!

You cut to the right and the wheels continue going left.  NO.  What is
this?   You want to sob in frustration, but before you can, Nunkies is
holding your chin in his cool hand, his eyes steady in yours.

"You can DO this, Mids.  You can do anything that you wish, as long as it
is right and fair.  This, I empower you with."

Slowly you nod and turn to face the street again.  You straighten up the
van and this time, when you cut to the right, the vehicle does also.  You
slip into the allotted spot without difficulty and/or scratches.  

You risk a sideways glance, expecting Nunkies to be writing on the clip
board again.  Instead, you discover that he is just sitting there,
smiling at you.

"Did I pass?"  you ask tentatively.

"Not only did you pass, Little One," he says huskily, " but you
demonstrated your passage into adulthood in such a magnificent manner
that I think it may be an opportune time for us to discuss other methods
of parallel behavior we might engage in, non?"

******************************

Happy birthday, Mids . . .