My oldest daughter is only 7, but my wife and I had a serious discussion the other night about kids and cars. It was prompted by the horrendous crash in Bristol last week that killed four teens. The mayor of Bristol told a heartbreaking story of burying his young child after a five-year struggle with leukemia. He said at least he had time to prepare for his son’s death. He said he didn’t know how he would deal with a middle-of-the-night phone call.
In recent years, I’ve noticed a threat on highways and roads that’s as deadly as drunk driving. There is a culture of speeding among today’s teenagers, aided and abetted by stupid parents who put zippy $30,000 sports cars in the hands of young drivers. Highways are NASCAR race tracks. Neighborhood streets are 60 mph speed zones. Police crackdowns on speeding are half-hearted and infrequent. The highly publicized “click it or ticket” campaign stinks of defeatism: we don’t care if you speed, just wear a seatbelt so you don’t get too hurt when you plow into a minivan.
For some reason, my daughter frequently asks me when we’re in the car:
“Daddy, are you a fast driver?”
“No, I’m medium. Not too fast, not too slow.”
I hope that message gets through to her because nine years are going to go by fast and she’ll be wanting that driver’s license. Hopefully by then, we’ll let kids vote at 16 but not drive until they’re 18.