Seven in the morning. Doors open seven-thirty.
By the time we get to the information desk, we are number 84.
Sydney holding her number with number being served in the background.
Waiting and waiting in the endless line. Standing room only.
But I am getting ahead of myself. Because to get here, you have to go here. Where it all begin....behind the wheel.
A year ago, my daughter started the dreaded drivers ed at school, which included manual training. The one in which your fifteen year old knows more about road rules than you and is not afraid to point that out. Of course, this is BEFORE she even drives a real car. After weeks of classroom time, the
brave dedicated drivers ed instructor teacher paying for his Harley, takes the little darlings (that must be some Harley) out on the road. Then, he deems them worthy of a getting a permit to drive YOUR car - with you "instructing" (or cowering in fear) your child yourself. It was at that time, I could only WISH for the droning correction of road violations and inches from the curb or corner, rather than - the floorboard stomping, rear bucking, clinging to the passenger door handle with all my might - ride of my life. Imagine going from annoying trivia to downright death-gripping terror.
Over and over and over.
There was not a happier soul than me on this child's 16th birthday. SWEET SIXTEEN. Dreams of the DPS; a license waving, smiling child-o-mine warranted safe for the roads. Whoopee! I would be FREE.
Except I wasn't. Unfortunately, we didn't practice parallel parking. More unfortunate? That's the first thing they make them do. If they can't? They fail.
Didn't I ask her if she could parallel park? Why yes, yes I did. Her answer, we did it once in driver's ed. Do you feel comfortable testing? [:shrugs:]
In all honestly, I failed my parallel parking, but the nice DPS officer - dad of my brother's best friend - passed me anyway. We were hoping she could be marked off for that and move on. But that wasn't so. According to the strict, leather pant wearing (even I was intimidated) female DPS officer, you did have to pass that, or fail.
So she failed, then she headed off to Mississippi for the summer with promises of practicing driving EVERY day. Her dad assured me, he would take her on the road and do his parental duty. He would step up and partake the same
hell instructing, I had done the last six months.
Ah, but see, there is a little problem. What he did not tell me (and still hasn't, but I figured out on my own thankyouverymuch) is that he has a phobia. it's not very known, in fact, I couldn't find the correct term. Fear of riding in the car with a teenage driver. But it's something like amaxoephebiphobia (your welcome). Yeah. This is a real issue. Like spiders.
So she comes back from two months of bliss with absolutely NO ROAD DRIVING PRACTICE at all, but a really nice beach tan to show off. And do you know what that means in the feeble facebook, text messaging, iPhone, MTV mind of a teenager? We start ALL OVER. I assure you, there is no memory of driving skills. I re-take my place of PAIN in the passenger seat, except this time we add in parallel parking practice upon every outing.
I insist on the busy streets. I insist on parking between two cars. I insist on highway driving. I insist on everything that makes me cringe and weep. It's a rite of passage. She must be a driver (to get to school, the mall, work). And we did, we drove everywhere - curbs, medians - you name it. All to build up to that day. THE DAY she tests again. When she is finally ready. That day when I can finally ride in the car with her, play words with friends on my iPhone, not stomping, not bucking, not worrying, if I will smack the windshield with my face. Just glancing here and there, playing my words. Ahh. Finally.
So we head to the DPS where begins our line. Our number. Our long wait.
Oh. Mm. Gee.
They run out of driving tests ten numbers before ours is called.
We wait in line anyway hoping they have pity on us.
They don't and we leave frantically driving and calling other DPS offices.
They are all full too.
Anyone else a, Dude, Where's my car fan? Heh.
We try the country. Cleburne. Because Cleburne is NEVER busy and Cleburne DPS office actually answers their phone and still had driving spots open.
It took us an hour to get there.
The line looked liked this!
They ran out of spots while waiting in line.
I called mercy. Uncle. It. Just. Wasn't. Happening.
Crushed, we left. All that work, and she didn't even get a chance to try.
I know you think, well, no problem - just go back the next day. But see, the drivers ed paperwork expired. So she had to re-request that, and then wait to get it back. School started, and there ya go. Another few weeks fly by.
Until yesterday, when we ventured back for another beating. DEEP BREATHS. Seven AM, you guessed it. Already a line formed for when they open at seven-thirty, but thankfully not as long. I refuse to get there with my lawn chair at four am. Refuse. By the time we got all the paperwork filled out, new thumb prints, and cute smiling little pic in front of the blue screen. The first road test opening was noon or three. She had school. I had work. I asked if a non-parent could bring her back for the driving test and they said yes. So, we got a three pm slot with Jason picking her up from school and taking her to it. I was disappointed to miss it. I really was. I wanted to see her face and give her a hug, win or lose. But it just didn't work out, and you can't say I didn't try.
However, I am marrying the most wonderful man in the world. Even though, I wasn't there. He texted me every moment. He knew how much it meant to me. He knew how long we practiced (and him too).
The officer beginning the test.
Sydney parallel parking like a champ.