Today is my little brother Joe's birthday. He turns 16. That sweet age where you can take to the road for the first time or have MTV tape a show about your spoiled life.
Joe's not doing the latter at any point, but he will get behind a wheel of a car, a very scary thought for me. Clear the roads, Ohio!
Driving is a funny sort of thing. From the day you are born until you venture into the DMV for the driving test, you are never alone in a car. Never. Unless you broke the law, you hooligan. But for the most part, the first time we travel anywhere without a companion comes with the 16th birthday and is, if you're like I was, kind of a weird experience.
At first I tried to hold conversations with myself. Today, with the advent of the hands-free cell phones, I might have gotten away with this. The awkward stares were many, though, and the conversations were never too interesting because I always agreed with myself.
As I became more confident in my driving abilities, I would make up small games for amusement while driving. Making sure I saw specific landmarks or road signs. Timing the stop lights or the exact length of my trip. Some may call this a form of OCD, but I call it mere fun.
Puttering along in my Subaru Forrester, chosen for its five-star safety rating and stylish good looks, I started to venture into the realm of road trips. I drove to Jersey with a friend. Granted, there were two of us to split the driving, but this particular friend had a habit of doing things like not choosing a lane on the highway ("I thought the white lines were supposed to be in the middle of the car!") or failing her drivers test the first time because she forgot the difference between right and left ("I drove forward fine, but I couldn't figure out which one looked like an L!"). So I took on the full nine hours by myself.
Your first road trip is a test of strength, of character and of your ability to remember to get gas. Driving through the Midwest with the "E" light on, I will admit I thought we would end up like a bad horror movie. Luckily, Butler, Pa. saved the day, and we were on our merry little way back to Ohio.
Time went on and eventually I was entrusted with the road trip of all road trips, the cross country road trip. I flew to New Mexico, stayed with my friend for a few days and then we started our trek back home. She had a wonderful little Ford Focus, and she named it something like Francesco St. Garcia. I think this had also been the name of her ferret that had died. But I digress.
Jane and I bought a carton of Marlboro Reds and hit the road.
Actually, then it got pretty boring. We did get to see Yukon, Okla., the home of Garth Brooks, and we played a great game of mini golf somewhere near St. Louis. We saw a dead pig along the side of the road in the panhandle and the largest cross in the western hemisphere in Texas. Neither of us found a giant cross all that exciting, though.
Today I drive less than ever before, thanks to living in a wonderful location right near the Corner. My trip home once a semester takes care of my need to sing Kelly Clarkson and show tunes, but other than that, I'm quite content to just putter out to Barracks every once in a while for a $2.49 sub of the day.
So as Joe prepares to mount his own Subaru Forrester (at least my family is consistent with the distribution of cars to children), I hope he experiences all the joys of the road I did. Of course, more importantly, I hope he never ever gets hurt driving somewhere. He's my favorite sibling.
Alert Reader: "But Clare, he's your only sibling."
Touché, salesman. You're a smart reader. I like that.
Favorite by default or not, driving is a whole other world that Joe is about to enter. A rite of passage, some might say. Hopefully his driving ability will be the same level as his computer gaming skills, which are quite developed.
One day in the future, the only reason he might care about his driver's license is so he can get into bars, but, for tomorrow at least, I hope he considers that little plastic card his birthday card from me.
Of course, that's mostly because I forgot to send one. Happy Birthday, Joe!
Clare's column runs bi-weekly on Mondays. She can be reached at ondrey@cavalierdaily.com.
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