So he took one of the four-wheelers out one day when we weren’t looking and crashed it into a tree about a mile from the house.
It didn’t matter that he jumped off before the crash. Or that his injuries were minor. When he limped into the house, bloodied and bruised, I nearly lost my shit.
Thank God Trent was there. The man had a backbone made of steel. Even though I saw the ghosts from my accident nearly twelve years before haunting his eyes, he acted like they weren’t there as he took control of the situation and protected me from the PTSD threatening to take over.
Actually, pretty sure he sucked it right out of me with a mind-numbing blow job.
Yep, I still loved a good blow job.
Trav got grounded. He also had to pay for all the parts to fix the quad, which he earned by doing chores for his aunts. Once he made enough for the new parts, he had to help fix it. Though, it didn’t deter him from wanting to drive. If anything, it made him more eager. He liked being under the hood with an engine just as much as he liked being behind the wheel.
We decided it was best for me to teach him how to handle a car because at least then he’d have skills to protect himself and wouldn’t be out trying to teach himself and crashing into shit.
Now here we were, a week shy of his seventeenth birthday. Well, maybe lessons on drifting weren’t necessary, but it sure as hell was fun.
Travis was a natural driver, better than I was at that age.
‘Course, maybe if my dad had taken an interest in my love for driving back then, I would have been. But we don’t need to talk about that.
“I did see an ad for a nice four-cylinder Honda the other day,” I mused.
Travis gave me acut the shitlook—did I mention teenagers have attitude for daysss?—and curled his lip. “I could run faster than a four-cylinder.”
“Maybe you should quit football and join the track team,” I cracked.
He didn’t think it was funny. “Dad.”
I laughed at his insufferable tone.
“It was brand new.” I defended the Honda.
“Even worse,” he spat. “It probably has all that driving assist shit.”
“Watch your mouth,” I warned.
Look, just because I dropped an F-bomb back there in the heat of the moment doesn’t mean we let our kids cuss.
He rolled his eyes.
I had to resist rolling mine back.
“I don’t want a car that drives me. I want to be the one in control.”
I respected it. I even thought it was smart. In my humble opinion, modern cars didn’t require as much skill because they had lane assist, parking assist, hands-free driving, etc. And yeah, the safety features were great, and it was good for kids new to driving. Hell, really anyone who couldn’t drive for shit, which was eighty percent of the people on the road.
But.
If we let cars do everything, then how were they supposed to learn? Hell, they don’t even teach cursive in schools these days. Kids see cursive now and act like it’s a foreign language. I had to teach my son how to sign his name. And there’s this app where you take a photo of your math homework and it does it for you.
What kind of BS is that? I would have loved that shit when I was in high school, but I’m not in high school. I’m a parent. I got to make sure my kid knows how to survive.
I let him use that math app, though. Since when do you need advanced algebra to survive?
Exactly. You don’t.
I lifted my eyebrows. “Need I remind you of the quad incident?”
Travis made a rude sound. “That was three years ago.”
