A Tiny Silver Car

A court summons came in the mail. My presence was requested on a Monday morning in the fall. The day had come for my daughter to receive her actual drivers license. In Virginia, the final step in the licensing process is to appear before the judge, who explains the rules and responsibilities that go along with having driving privileges, shows a series of graphic slides of actual car accidents ( of teen aged drivers) in our area and reminds the parent that they have the authority to take away the license if they so choose.

As I watched the slide show, set to a popular song, the images made me want to shut my eyes or get up and leave. As tears collected at the corner of my eye, my daughter reached over and put her arm around my shoulder, offering comfort. A moment before, the photos were making me think of those children and their parents and the phone calls they must have gotten in the night. Now, it really hit me that those children were just like mine, excited about the freedoms that come along with driving and being able to run an errand or drive alone to school. But on that particular fateful day, they had perhaps made the simplest of errors in judgement that led to the accident.


A deputy had given the license to me as we entered the court room and the final words of the judge were that it was our, the parents, responsibilty to give the license to our child. I saw one boy take the folded paper from his father, tear off the license and put it in his pocket. But most parents, like me, left the court room with the folded paper clutched tightly in their hand.

When we got to the car, I gave it to my husband and as he handed it to her, I took a photo. They were both grinning on that sunny morning, looking like sweepstakes winners, ready to get on with the day. I wanted to stand in that parking lot and make time stop, not quite ready to watch her drive off in a tiny silver car.