" Perils of Parents & 16 yr olds Driving...."

My Son just bought a new car. He has been waiting for a year now, with the economy such as it is for the right moment. With a mortgage & household bills the truck he was driving was fine, it just wasn't "new" and he craved that. Now understand he is 28 yrs old, works hard for the USFS as a firefighter, owns his own home in California ( well him & the bank...) not a small feat these days, acts responsibly for the most part (*wink*), has an english bulldog named Lennon who I might add requires more attention than a child. All and all he has done amazingly well and made his Dad and I very proud. But since we are speaking of cars and driving my mind goes drifting back to when he was 16+..... you better sit down!


Oh how proud we all were as parents when they turned 16 yrs old could drive and get from point A & B without us having to rearrange our entire lives. As parents (especially raising kids in Havasu) you all know it is far more important they get to the Marina to 'catch a ride on the lake' or meet the guys at the Nautical Inn or Mudshark to sit on the sand 'looking cool' checking out all the new dental floss, ooops I mean bikini's. This was far more important than Mom & Dad going to work or anything else we might have on our agenda. (Duhhh!)


Of course we had specific rules for driving & owning a vehicle.
1. Always wear your seatbelt. ( Which translated to till they were out of our sight...)
2. No drinking & driving ( No drinking anyhow you're 16!)
3. Must have a job to pay or at least attempt to help with the never ending repairs, maintenance & gas.
4. .... well you all know the drill so I will get on with the story.
At 16 getting your license and driving is a right of passage but to the parents it is holding our breath and praying it will be okay. Okay enough rambling...


And the story begins.... my husband & I were no longer married but got along great and still parented the same as always, which drove the kids nuts. Maybe this is why we were chosen to be their parents. (*wink*) I moved back from a short stay in Tucson to LHC so the kids could see us both (stability in numbers I now had him to back my play.) I lived with my kids in a friends very large home that they were trying to sell but needed it to look like a magazine, they moved out we moved in.I used a lot of their things and mine to make the home lovely. I am a nestor and type A, enough said?


Our son did his duty and got a part time job in the evenings at a Pizza Parlor to help pay for this privilege. Of course employees had to park in the dark way out back where dimly lit was exaggerating. Now this was Havasu circa Uhmmm 1998 so everyone knew everyone and all their business.


I worked as a nurse in the ER and would frequently go to bed before the kids came home. I left the lamp on next to my bed and the rule was they would wake me so I knew they had gotten home on time and safe, then they would turn out my light and I would drift back to sleep, not before I alarmed the entire house from my room...( I am not entirely naive..!) It was my rule but was a lovely bonding between us and served as "OMG" if I awoke and it was really late and the light was still on...believe me trouble would be on the horizon. 


One particular night my son came home to say goodnight and after the light was turned off and he was heading out of the room dropped the tinsy tiny little bomb..."Mom someone took a baseball bat to the front of my truck." I came bolt upright in bed to ensure he was not harmed and we decided to deal with it in the morning. I was so happy he was safe, curled up and went to sleep...Zzzzzzz


The next morning it was Sunday. I got up early, peeked in on him, he of course was snoring like a freight train, went downstairs to make some french press coffee (the only way to drink coffee by the way...) I took my steamy mug and walked out to the side where the driveway came up through the gates wearing my pajama's, robe and flip-flops. I always parked in the garages, but there were 2 carports and plenty of other parking for the kids and visitors. I  proceeded to take a deep breath of clean desert morning air Ahhh, ( there is nothing like it,  Havasu air in the morning) took a sip of my coffee and turned. There it was, the infamous truck facing directly at me. Hhmmm...... (not my son's smartest move.) I stood for several seconds sipping my coffee staring at the truck. Did he think I was mentally impaired?? Really?? I know to anyone looking from where I was standing it did not look as if the truck had been hit with a baseball bat. I knew exactly what I saw. I pinched myself to ensure I was awake and not dreaming then leisurely walked back in the house.


It was early for kids but not by adult standards. I gently picked up the phone, with my feet up and called my ex-husband...".Daddy-O" to the kids making me "Mommy-O." Caller ID is a wonderful invention. He answered cheerful as always and I briefed him on the truck assault inviting him over for a cup of coffee. Of course he said he would be over in a few minutes, but curiosity of the real story he could not pass up.


I made a fresh brew of coffee set out two mugs turned around and he was standing in the kitchen. Smiling pleasant and happy to have a nice cup of coffee but dying to get down to the dirt of it. I told him to come with me...we made that walk down the long hall to the side patio where " It " was parked and stood exactly where I had been standing not 30 minutes before, side by side coffee mugs in hand looking at the truck in silence. I watched him out of the corner of my eye trying not to laugh and spew coffee everywhere. He grinned slightly, took a sip of coffee twisted his head a bit left than right and just stared as I had. Finally a few minutes later I broke the silence by bursting into laughter at the absurdity of the elaborate baseball bat tale and gained my composure enough to say, " I could swear that is a perfect impression of a mailbox, house numbers and all." Although the numbers were backwards & the word US Mail, (hence being hit head on) we both nodded in agreement. 32014....now what street? Actually it was a spectacular work of art, or crime scene (take your pick.) We went into the house sat down in the living room and busted out laughing at the stupidity of the lie. Of course it woke Son-shine up, unbeknownst to him the jig was most definitely up! 


Down the stairs came one of the victim's of this horrendous crime, of course the truck was another victim, but somewhere there was a third lurking at an undisclosed location. He attempted to act normal even sat down and had some coffee talking about some nonsense at warp speed (hoping to get us off track..) His Dad said let's go have a look at your truck Son. I am fairly certain being a trained medical professional and stealth ninja Mom he turned 12 shades of white/gray then beads of sweat started to pour. He stepped outside with us and was going to attempt the story once again but became mute when he saw us grinning ever so slightly. Not wanting to get caught in a blatant lie I took over and gave my "mailbox conspiracy theory.." with the best Perry Mason/Matlock impression I could muster. Our adorable Son decided silence was the wisest choice and just stood there. (What?? Huh?)


We preceded to ask, " Who's mailbox was killed in the commission of this crime?" He plead no contest. We three soldiers piled into Dad's suburban for a painful road trip. Lake Havasu has predictable routes from one side of town to another so we took the reverse of what we assumed he had traveled. The street numbers were coming into line nicely. Low & behold about 3/4 of a mile down a main road we found the evidence we were looking for. The mail box in question in a large plastic bucket with fresh concrete poured to stabilize it and a few sticks shoring it up till the concrete was hard.


The three of us walked up to the front door, rang the bell and waited. A little man I estimate to be at least 167  1/2 yrs old came shuffling to the door, his wife lagging in second place slowly behind. I suspect they didn't get many visitors so were pleased to see us regardless. My Son profusely apologized to the sweet elderly couple and offered to replace their mailbox in the ground with a new box and pole immediately. They were so happy he was not hurt himself they said not to worry....(Uh no!) We as the parents insisted and threw in some yard work while he was there. My Son, our Son did not try and make any excuse but stood tall looked the man in the eyes made his apology (sincerely) and shook his hand. 


The mailbox was replaced better than before. The sweet woman made my Son cookies and juice ( does crime pay? Nah...) He had fun listening to the man's war stories and came home smiling.


It was a scary thing as parents to think of the what if....but everyone's life went on, till the next ridiculous stunt. We definitely learned raising children to count our blessings however they come to us!.....