The first time was in 1993. Time number two was just two years later in 1995. Nineteen ninety-seven marked the third occurance. Then I had a break. It didn't happen again until the next century. Still I had no problems. Another four year break brought me to 2005 A.D. Sometime between November 2005 and September 2009 I have lost touch with reality. What was routine has now become stressful. What was blase has now become challenging. The mind that used to be a steel trap has obtained more than a little rust and is in dire need of a shot or two of WD-40.
This all hit me in the face like one of those cream pies with which Bill Gates was targeted. I am the father of seven children of which six have obtained the age of sixteen. That in and of itself is not special. More special or rather more amazing is that I am still here to even come to the cream pie moment I had this weekend.
Because I have this many teens I have been priveleged to have the same amount of teen drivers. It is reasonable to think that I should have the routine down as to what is needed in order to have a newly turned sixteen teen aquire a learning permit. Sure, through the years Penn DoT has wrinkled the playing field by trying to make me responsible for counting a number of hours driven by my teen before a representative of the state certifies that the flesh of my flesh and the bone of my bone is permitted to drive on the potholed Pennsylvania hiways and byways. What Penn DoT doesn't realize is that no child of mine is getting behind the wheel of ANY vehicle that has my name printed on the owners card by their computer regardless of how many hours they may or may not have driven while my fanny is in the seat beside them. There is no magic number just a magic feeling. A feeling that only I can experience. I must say that the feeling does and will waver from time to time. One of these times is the first time they drive down the street in my car while I am left behind on my knees dialing up the person-to-God direct-call phone line. Penn DoT has also made it possible for the medical world to harvest teenage body parts from these young drivers as long as the teen says it's OK and I sign a form and swear that I am of sound mind. Chew on that one awhile. They are asking the parent who is about to turn over their $30,000 vehicle, the future of their insurance premiums and their very solvencey to a cell phone carrying, texting, music loving child if they are of sound mind. Lord have mercy! Now back to my story.
It is reasonable to think that I should have the routine down as to what is needed in order to have a newly turned sixteen teen aquire a learning permit. Micah turned sixteen on September 5th. Shortly there after he and I make the Mecca-like oblgitory journey to Penn DoT so that he can get his permit. We get there park enter the building, go to the application testing room and it is then and only then that I realize that Micah needs a doctor signiture on his application. Just like all the other times. I believe this signiture is needed only because the state may want to harvest body parts at some point in the future and with these signatures they are guaranteed a predetermined standard of quality. Well we got the checkbook (that was an automatic, dealing with the state, need a checkbook) but we ain't got no doctor approval. So home we go. Fast forward two months.
Why two months? 1) A physical 2) Band 3) Dauphin County Library System 4) Band 5) Apathy 6)Band. We finally get our act together, find a weak spot in the band schedule, i.e. the end of the season, and begin our trip all over again. I even reviewed the steps to take by a prospective applicant on page one of the PA Drivers Manual. I checked off each step we were going to follow once we left Penbrook. We were a little late, say 9:30ish but it was Saturday and we had the time. We got to the Penn DoT building. Being the good parent and the law abiding driver that I am, in route I only had to scream at two other drivers and critique their driving to my sixteen year old driver wannabee. Once in the parking lot at Penn DoT I was forced to make a decision as to whether I wanted to stick around and teach my son to drive or spend 7-12 with Bubba and the boys at the State Penn. It is amazing what one woman behind the wheel of a car trying to find the perfect parking space can do to a sane man trying to get a drivers permit for his son.
We triumphantly enter the building with no outstanding warrants for us. Being the savy, experienced parent I quickly slash through the rooms occupants and press the magic green button the spews out a number by which we will be identified for the next few minutes. I get number 75. I'm sure there is no reason for us to be seated. This should go quickly. I stepped around the partition and was transported to Ellis Island. Then and only then reality pied me again. "Ding! Now serving number 54." Fifty-four! My computer-like mind quickly deduced that there were twenty-one people in front of us. If each one took 10-15 minutes to process, Micah and I were in danger of missing Thanksgiving. Much to our benefit the A-Team was working this Saturday morning. We only had to wait about an hour. I cannot even begin to tell you aout the people with which we waited. One was a self-appointed ambassador of good will. She was constantly jumping up to explain the process to anyone that walked in and looked puzzeled. All I know about another was that when he took his wife/girl friend/daughter to the counter and gave the attendant his license as proof of identy, the attendant said in a voice loud enough to silence the room, "What are you doing here? This license is suspended!" Pied, buddy.
Number 70, 71, 72, 73, 74, we ready ourselves, "Ding! Now serving number 75." We dash to counter #6. We grandly present all of our paper work to the clerk with the ralization that we are only moments away from getting a permit. The clerk reviews our form. She tells me that I can fill out the parental permission form and I do not need to have a notary seal placed on it. She has Micah take the eye test. Then and only then does she look at us and say, "I need your birth certificate and Social Security Card." Ready, aim, fire! The splatter of the pie was every where. I feel that the same silence that covered the room like a blanket just minutes before, returned. I could feel the people saying, "What kinda idiots are they?" "Such a nice boy with a stooge for a father." "It must be their first time." Had I not been married I probably would have proposed to the clerk as she lovingly said, "Go get the things you need and come back. When you do, don't get another number, just come directly to my counter and I will put Micah on a machine right away." Don't you just love a woman who can take charge of a situation and make it right.
We dashed home. Ann had the necessary forms ready and handed them to us as were drove down the street just like the Pony Express. I don't think there was any lasting or long term brain damage done to Ann by the side mirrors on my truck. We returned to Penn DoT and went directly to the processing room. I could feel the daggers from those holding numbers 89 to 105 as we went directly to counter #6. Good to her word, my favorite Penn DoT clerk set Micah up on a machine. Seven minutes and thirty-seven seconds later Micah returned to counter #6 where I heard my favorite clerk state, "You can only take the test once a day. You may return again on Tuesday." Micah got pied. He failed. We get to do this all over again.
- Dan
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