One of our greatest accomplishments in 2025 was Jacob getting his driver’s license. And believe me, it was a team effort. I was head coach. Nate certainly took home the trophy for best passenger. He can teach a master class in sitting quietly and never once backseat driving as he careens toward death. Who’s kid is this?
Jake and I doggedly put in the hours. Driving the loop from home to Laguna to SLO High every morning. And then reversing it every afternoon. It’s one of the hardest things we’ve ever done together. He’ll tell you about how I’d scootch up toward the center console and squint my eyes and exclaim, “Too close, too close!” as I feel my side of the car practically grazing parked cars and ditches and sidewalks. I’m not allowed to shift my weight or move my hands or press my feet to the floor. There’s the day we encounter all the city buses in our lane. The days of roundabout practice with Granddad. And weeks of easing on and off all the pedals. We work on intuitively feeling what other cars are doing and knowing when they’re going to come at you or do something dumb. And my evergreen advice, “Have you ever seen a dead quail? Ever? No you have not. Take your foot off the gas, but do not brake for quail.”
Never has he ever told me he wished Dad was here for something over me. But we one hundred percent agree that James is way better at this than me. I’d been counting on it.
On Friday, July 25th, 2025, we drive down to the DMV for the driving test. Our fate is in the hands of a lady wearing a pink monster truck shirt, jeans, and sandals that keep slipping off. I find a bench outside and the dad in front of us joins me. His daughter also goes to our school and is the next driver up in front of Jacob. We watch as they exit the lot– first parking lot stop sign doesn’t appear to go well. Twenty minutes later, she pulls back across the finish line and parks in the spots. Her dad watches in trepidation. They sit in the car for an eternity. Our hearts sink. He knows she wasn’t ready. I’m watching the worst case scenario unfold before my eyes. Pink Monster Truck finally exits the car and makes a quick escape. I wish him luck and somehow the minivan sits for a second eternity, before driving off.
Jacob’s up next. He leaves with Pink Monster Truck. I watch as the brake lights of the Volvo exit the lot. I call Arlene to help the time pass. Sitting here is too nerve-wracking. Especially after the scene I’ve just watched.
At some point the Volvo comes around the corner and pulls into the spots where the minivan was. They sit in the car for a few minutes. But this time when Pink Monster Truck gets out, she’s smiling, addresses me as Mom and gives me a thumbs-up. Hallelujah praise Jesus.
The good thing is that I know deep down, even if Jake doesn’t pass this test the first time, he won’t take it that hard. He definitely won’t take it personally.
I eagerly ask him for the play-by-play and all I get is, “Of course I passed, Mom. I’m Him.”
“Oh really…”
“Yeah, I’m built different.”
I’m fairly certain I’ve uncovered the origin of all male confidence.
This past Tuesday I text Jacob a picture of his throws shoes, in the bottom locker in his room. They’re for shotput and discus. Since we moved out of the barn, he’s been lamenting they’re lost forever.
Me: “Found ’em!!!”
Jacob: “Thanks”
Me: “I’m Her“
Jacob: “No”
Cuz it makes no sense to put them there
And then you forgot”
Me: “I’m built different”