By: Katie Borders
Humor Editor
Nothing is quite as irritating as the sound of a parent screeching out “STOP” as soon as the traffic light turns red when you are over six car lengths away from the limit line. I’m honestly not sure why my parents do this, considering I think I am more afraid of imminent death while driving than they are while sitting stiffly in the passenger seat. I may be neither the best nor most experienced driver on the road, but I definitely have no plans to get into a car accident. After all, I’m not even eighteen and most definitely do not have plans to bring my life to an end by plowing through a stop light – absolutely not.
As a proud, avid, and might I say almost full-time passenger princess, I don’t usually enjoy driving and am a reluctant driver for the most part. Unfortunately, my dislike for being the driver has not changed over time, and it most definitely does not help my peace of mind to look over at the passenger seat and see one of my parents laser-focused on the road, seat fully up, seatbelt pulled tight, and back sitting up straight to the point where even I can feel the tension emanating from them and almost feel the back pain that must accompany the invisible weight on their shoulders. They usually feel the need to launch into a lecture on the privilege and responsibilities while operating a vehicle and proceed to deliver a monologue about keeping my full attention on the road (as I already am) while asking me to repeat back what I am supposed to do, accordingly requiring me to take some of my attention away from focusing on the road. It appears that there is always a part of my driving that they feel the need to critique, regardless of my being a fully licensed driver. The takeaway: there is no winning against the parental backseat drivers.
I remember when I was learning to drive, I vividly recall multiple times where I ran over a curb turning a corner or leaving a parking lot (embarrassing, yes), and—of course—having my mistake met with the dreadful sound of the parent in the passenger seat clearing their throat, preparing to launch into the lecture of the century. This diatribe concluded with their switching places with me to show me how to do it “correctly” and not hit the curb. And yet, the lecture continued with about fifteen “Are you paying attention?” thrown into the mix, my parents confidently approached the curb at 15 miles per hour… somehow proceeding to both accidentally run over the curb in perfect timing with a smug “and that is how it’s done.”
However, the backseat driving continues its terrible presence while driving, as parents begin to make you drive them on errands. The number of times I have heard “Remember to…”, “Don’t forget the…”, or comments pertaining to stopping five millimeters farther behind the stop sign, waiting a centisecond longer before accelerating, or my personal favorite, “Don’t hit the curb” (face smack emoji), on my way to Whole Foods is frankly dumbfounding and never ceases to amaze me.