time. Finally, he said, “No. I’m not okay with it. But despite the fact that I gave up my career to raise you kids, despite the fact that I take care of everything around this house—I cook, clean, do laundry, spend half my day playing chauffeur—despite all that, I don’t actually have a voice in what happens here.”
I wanted to tell him how untrue that was. But I realized I didn’t actually know one way or the other. It never occurred to me that he might be unhappy, that he might feel there was an imbalance in his and Mother’s relationship.
“What do you want me to do?” I asked quietly.
“Do whatever you need to.” He stood and made his way out of the kitchen.
There was a heavy feeling in my stomach. It was unnatural to see Father so unhappy. I wanted to give him something, some small token.
“Father?” I said, drawing him back into the room. “I was wondering if you might teach me to drive soon.”
The look on his face indicated he wouldn’t have been more surprised if a UFO descended right in front of him.
“Why now?” he asked.
“I just… I’ve put it off for too long. I’m ready to learn.”
“Okay then,” he said, his expression brightening a fraction. “We’ll go out this weekend.”
This weekend? “There’s no rush if you’ve got other things going on.”
“I’d rather do this sooner than later.”
Well then. That was that. I was learning to drive.
Interlude
The Problem with Driving
Someday the issue of driving will be irrelevant. After all, we’re moving in the direction of self-driving cars, and I’m 88 percent sure that, in the near future, they’ll be the primary means of transportation.
For that reason, learning to drive was pointless. It would be a better use of time to learn a skill with long-term application.
“No one forced Isaac Newton to drive,” I once told my parents. “Instead, he was given the freedom to make some of the most important scientific discoveries of all time.”
Father gave me a long look. “Remind me, when was Isaac Newton alive?”
Isaac Newton lived from 1643 to 1727, which, yes, meant he never had to make the choice about driving one way or the other. It didn’t exactly help prove my point. But the fact remained: driving was an unnecessary waste of my mental energy.
It was also dangerous.
More than one million people died in car accidents each year. On average, that was 3,287 deaths a day. And car crashes were the leading cause of death among people ages fifteen to twenty-nine.
Even the best drivers risked their lives when they got on the road—and I harbored the secret fear that my driving skills would be severely deficient.
People assumed that if you were science-minded, you must be good with all mechanics. I can assure you, that isn’t the case. Manipulating a vehicle has more in common with athletic prowess than it does with building a vehicle.
Sadly, my spatial awareness left something to be desired. I had trouble gauging distances. The mere thought of maneuvering a car filled me with anxiety, and few phrases struck fear in my heart like “merging into traffic.”
So, thus far, I had avoided driving.
I’d avoid even mentioning driving if I could—it’s a topic that only serves to embarrass me. But, alas, like so many things that happened that autumn, my inability to operate a motor vehicle would turn out far more significant than I’d ever imagined.
Event: Father Revolts (Cont.)
Father left the room, gone off to…do whatever he planned to do. How would he fill his day if he wasn’t taking care of us and the house?
A while later, the rest of my family wandered into the kitchen. Mother grabbed a myTality™ Power-Up and seemed entirely unconcerned with the lack of breakfast options. Maggie shrugged and got a bowl of cereal. Ishmael was the only one of us who seemed lost.
“Get a grip,” Maggie told him. “You can pour cereal.”
“I was just really hoping for waffles today,” my brother replied glumly.
Mother sat at the table and opened her planner, aggressively flipping pages and making notes. I’d tried getting her to switch to using her phone to no avail. She said the act of physically writing down appointments etched them into her memory. But why did her memory matter if she kept track in a planner anyway?
“Will J. Quincy Oswald be in town for a while?” I probed.
“Hmm?” Mother replied, distracted. “Oh yes, quite a while, I think. At least until the launch of the new product. I’m meeting with him