As fate, demons, or sadistic leprechauns would have it, in the past few weeks two events have intertwined that could prove to put a damper on my life expectancy. I will be pleasantly surprised if at the conclusion of the year 2012 I am upright with full use of both arms and nothing more than the usual yearly mental decline. Unscathed, uninjured, and undead have recently become my post dated belated New Years resolutions.

No I haven’t decided to pursue a career as a tour bus driver in Iraq; my sixteen year old daughter got her learners permit and my twelve year old son completed hunter’s safety. The volatile combination of automobiles and firearms, two American institutions, thrust into one father’s life at the same time. Play times over.

My daughter was having a problem with test anxiety when it came to the learners permit test but the third time was a charm, for her not for me, and she came out smiling holding her shiny new permit in one hand and my life in the other. Don’t get me wrong, I was happy for her, but teaching my teenage daughter the rules of the road from the passenger seat of a moving car with other moving cars in close proximity seemed more than little dangerous for all involved.

As we were getting set to leave the parking lot of the DMV my concern was amplified another notch when I told my daughter to press the brake and shift into reverse. I heard the engine roar as she tugged on the shifter and pressed the peddle to the right of the one I had hoped. Briefly, a vision of the simpler and safer days of Ellis family automobile transportation flittered by with her safely secured in her car seat and me at the helm.

Thankfully, some genius, most likely a father that had to teach a daughter how to drive, incorporated the “must press brake to shift out of park” safety feature. This also is most likely the same fellow who decided the emergency brake should be in the middle within arm’s reach of the passenger (a.k.a. Dad). In the eight miles between our house and the DMV my hand never left the emergency brake and my buns never unclenched. Drivers ed teachers must have buns of steel.

During those eight miles my wife called to inquire about Sierra’s test results. I said, “She passed.” In those few words my wife sensed a “clenched” tone in my voice and asked, “Is she driving now?” I said, “Yes.” My wife said, “You sound nervous.” I said, “Yes.” She said, “I will wait and talk to you when you get home.” I said, “Yes.”

I won’t be nodding off in the passenger seat anytime soon but Sierra is doing a fine job of driving and the only damage to the car has been a noticeable warping in the passenger side floor boards and slight finger indentations around the emergency brake handle.

Sierra’s driving and Jackson can now legally get in touch with his inner Elmer Fudd. I’ve got a few months until hunting season then the clenching can commence in full force again. I’ll keep you posted on the death defying goings on and the promising underwear modeling career all the clenching created.