Guardianship

My daughter, me and Alanis Morissette

A hundred years ago I taught my daughter how to drive a car. It was one of the most joyous and scariest things that I have ever done in my life.

I should preface this by saying that on the Father’s Day immediately pre-ceding our driving lessons my daughter gave me a truly wondrous Father’s Day present. She gave me a CD by Alanis Morissette.

Way, way back then she was a rabid Alanis Morissette fan. I may not have been quite so rabid but I was also a fan. I was actually quite thrilled with her present.

For months leading up to it — perhaps even years — my daughter had been hounding me to teach her how to drive a car. To her, it was the most important aspect of growing up. Heck, she wanted to be able to drive a car since before she entered elementary school. There was absolutely nothing she wanted more.

And then she turned sixteen years old and acquired a driving permit. Not a single conversation happened between myself and my daughter without an urgent plea for me to teach her how to drive so that she could get her license.

I looked at my wife. She rolled her eyes and looked fiercely at me as if to say, “Don’t look at me. There’s no way in hell I’m gonna teach her to drive. That’s a father thing. It’s your job!”