In March, my son turned fifteen, got his learner’s permit, and started driver’s ed. Cole has been sincerely shocked to discover that being super good at the video game Grand Theft Auto does not necessarily translate into being super good at merging into a roundabout in an actual automobile. (Side note here: Cole does not personally own Grand Theft Auto. That is a violent, nasty video game which he only plays at his friend’s house. I am confident that not allowing him to own the game makes me a better mother than my neighbor.)
So, Cole and I were out practicing his driving when he sneezed twice in quick succession. After his final sneeze, eyes wide open, he gripped the steering wheel and straightened himself stiffly in the seat.
“Holy Crap!” he yelled. “That is the scariest thing that has ever happened to me.”
I reminded him that his dad died when he was seven. He has had a cast on his left arm four times. And there was that time three years ago when he had a hundred and four fever while hiking and had to swim across the Snoqualmie River in order to get back home.
He shook his head. “No,” he replied, catching his breath. “Sneezing while driving is the scariest thing I have ever done.”