Unpacking My Spoon Moment

I’d heard from the Mrs. that my older one was annoyed with her dad.  They had a talk, late in the night, long after I’d gone to bed.  I think I’d insisted a bit too strongly at dinner that she should jump up and get the spoons that were missing from the table.  This, she pointed out was properly the responsibility of her friend, who has been a guest at our house.   I apparently dismissed this quickly and told her to get up off her ass and take care of it, nonetheless.  She explained to her mom that she felt like she was in high school, all over again. 

Today then, let’s she and I get out of here.   We’re all stuck in this four bedroom house with five people, blessed with a large piece of land and a rail-trail as an outlet, it is nonetheless claustrophobic, day after day, staring at one another for prolonged periods of time.  No one is at their most thoughtful, or patient.  A ride then.  Let’s get in the car and go. 

My nineteen-year-old grew up in Beijing and had no real need to learn to drive.  She never did.  Her sixteen-year-old, sister, by comparison, is probably further along than she is on the driving maturity curve.  I suggest to my older one that we head to the local high school, with its not insignificant parking lot that is now empty and practice some driving.

She gets her tunes.  I consider them as we park and she takes the wheel.  We focus on driving, rather than unpacking my spoon moment.  She signals, turns left, signals and turns left again then stops and the stop sign.  It’s slow going and to be fair, rather boring.  But others did it for me and I can do it for her.  It is an American right of passage.  We can both be thankful she’s learning on an automatic and not a stick shift. 

Later, after we’re done with all this practice, we head into town and I offer up the spoon incident for analysis.  She explains.  I listen.  And I notice she is paying more attention to my driving now than she otherwise might have ever done before. 

Monday, 3/30/20