Our seventeen year old son just got his driver’s license and made his first substantial solo trip today—a twenty-five minute drive to meet up with friends. It occurred to me how much easier it is be a parent now, and how much harder, than when I first started driving (the day I turned sixteen, as was the norm in my era). Thanks to cell phones, we can check up at almost any time—say, after he’s driven about a quarter of a mile. But thanks to cell phones, we can never completely relax, because there’s always the option to give the kids a quick call.
I think our son’s biggest thrill is knowing he can now go to Wawa whenever he wants. (For those of you who don’t live in the Northeast, it’s like a 7-Eleven—a convenience store often attached to a gas station). For some reason, everyone in his peer group thinks that a sandwich from Wawa is a rare delicacy. I’ve been in a lot of Wawas in my time, and the only explanation I can think of is that they must have started drugging the air, or perhaps the sandwiches.
