Both of my sons were human tornadoes as toddlers, and so I was often comforted and threatened by strangers in the aisles of Target with saying like, “Don’t blink; they will be grown in a moment” and “One day it’ll be over and you’ll wish it back” and “Here’s the phone number for a young priest and an old priest.” And I’d stand there gripped onto a screeching, wriggling mess of peanut butter and dirt and nod my head and mentally berate myself for not finding enough joy earlier that day when that same blob of boy wiped his nose in my hair after coloring a picture of “mommy hugs” using my eyeliner pencil.
Anyway, my fifteen-year-old took his driver’s test last week.
If you’re reading this from outside of North Dakota you may be thinking, “FIFTEEN?!” and so I want to confirm that yes, children in North Dakota get their learner’s permits at fourteen and their driver’s licenses at fifteen. I got my license at fifteen. My dad got his license at fifteen. My assumption is that it has something to do with farming or lack of traffic or parents not wanting to drive their kids to 6:00 AM hockey practice or all of those reasons combined. In addition to permits, children can also get their moped licenses at fourteen, and so there has always been a kid who has jumped the gun and convinced their parents to get them a moped at fourteen instead of a car at fifteen – and was therefore the absolute coolest kid in the junior high and then the one whose girlfriend had to drive them to Homecoming because her dress didn’t fit on the back of the ‘ped in high school.
Fifteen finished driver’s ed in June and was immediately promoted to Mom’s Personal Chauffeur in anticipation of his test. Every evening after dinner, he would drive me around town for the most magical drives of my life. Magical and expensive, since we usually stopped for coffee or ice cream along the way, but mostly magical because fifteen-year-old boys aren’t typically big conversationalists unless you lock them in a car without access to their phones.
“Will you still drive me around everywhere after you get your license?” I asked him the evening before his test.
“Yes,” Fifteen lied.
Kyle had a golf tournament the day of his test and so Eleven and I picked up Fifteen at the hockey rink in the middle of a goalie camp. We ate lunch in the car and then Fifteen and I swapped seats so he could drive us to the DMV.
“If I don’t pass my test this time, when can I retake it?” Fifteen said as he pulled into the parking lot.
“You’ll pass it this time,” I reassured him.
“How do you know if you fail?”
“They tell you right away,” I said. “So if they cut your test off early, you failed.”
“Don’t you know that because you failed the first time?” Eleven asked from the back seat.
“Yes, but I was a sucky driver,” I said. “I never, ever practiced. Fifteen is infinitely better.”
Fifteen pursed up his lips, which he also used to do when he was a babe so that I couldn’t shove any more food into his mouth, and didn’t say anything.
Ninety-nine percent of the clientele in the DMV that day seemed to be suffering from some kind of significant physical impairment. One gentleman was limping while favoring his right – his driving – leg. Another lady was using a walker and a cane simultaneously. A third was being wheeled in via an iron lung.
“Are all of these people taking their test today, too?” Eleven asked.
“Hopefully not until Fifteen is done and long out of the parking lot,” I said, rudely, in my head.
“Maybe,” I said aloud.
We checked in, and a very, very nice DMV employee gave us some brief instructions. The test would take 20 minutes, and Eleven and I were to wait in the lobby.
“Good luck, you’re going to pass!” I said, brightly, but Fifteen wasn’t listening.
Eleven and I situated ourselves between the infirm (who collectively turned out to be incredibly sweet and excellent joke-tellers and, as it were, accompanying other people who were actually getting their licenses renewed; which confirmed yes, I continue to be the worst person ever). I picked up my phone and pretended to scroll while obsessively checking the time.
Just past the twelve-minute mark – eight minutes early – Fifteen returned.
“Uh oh,” I whispered to myself, searching his face.
He looked over at me, gave a half-smile, and then a thumbs up.
And right there, in the middle of a DMV packed with people I had hard-judged without reason, I burst into tears.
“Why are you crying?” Eleven asked, shocked.
“Because,” I wept.
I cried while Fifteen waited for his license. I cried as I took a picture of him holding his license in front of the DMV to let his father know he passed. I cried as he drove us back to the rink so he could finish his goalie camp.
“Remember that your mother loves you and always drive carefully,” I sniffled as he got out of the car.
“I will,” he said, pocketing his license and sauntering into the rink.
It was 101 degrees at 5:00 PM this weekend and so Kyle took a picture of my car dashboard, which is above.
This week on North Dakota Today we talked about Chantel Zeller, my Nice Person of the Week, as well as an “extreme” case of North Dakota Niceness. (Valley News Live)
Here’s the start of my latest column in the Grand Forks Herald:
“John Odegard was visionary and fearless,” my mother, one of the many people fortunate to know John, said when I asked if she had any thoughts about her friend.
“He learned to fly by holding the training manual on his lap. Can you imagine? He started UND’s aviation program in what was virtually a closet and wasn’t daunted by the fact that the department didn’t initially have a plane. He was humble enough not to boast that he was going to build the world’s premiere aerospace school; but with his boundless optimism, business smarts and energy, it’s not a surprise that is exactly what it became.
“He was a fabulous guy,” my mother said. “One of a kind. Forever missed.” (Grand Forks Herald)
Meet Skye the golden retriever, an Alzheimer’s dog. (Yahoo)
Congratulations to Hayden Wieser and Zoey Wagoner, North Dakota’s newest world champions. (KFYR TV)
I call this news “Neeeaaattt.” (Facebook)
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