Like many other fathers of daughters, I think my dad stopped knowing what to do with me the day I started wearing a bra. He really has no idea how to interact with me in any normal every day situation. He either treats me like a toddler or a potential rape victim. There exists no in between where I'm a real person. There used to be only one way we could ever bond: action movies. I love action movies, as does he, and watching one together is one of the few ways we're able to be in each other's company for several hours in a row. With my new driving permit, though, I've found a new way for us to interact together: driving.
Since I got my permit last week, my dad has been teaching me to drive. He's pretty good at it. He's a post man, so he actually drives a truck for a living every day. He's the person who taught me mom to drive when they were first dating. It's one of the few times, I've noticed, that he's able to treat me as a novice, as a normal person rather than a role. It's nice. Maybe we'll both grow through this experience.
1 comment:
I drove a little bit with my dad. And then I learned how to drive with a stranger, a man.
Now that I've mastered driving an automatic, someone else made it his mission awhile ago to teach me to drive stick shift. While we think of ourselves as having some sort of familial connection anyway, it's one of those real father and daughter activities. There's this certain paternal protectiveness and pride he has about it and the sense of love in this act is so overwhelming that it really makes me want to cry.
I hope that you have a wonderful time learning how to drive with your father.
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