Today is the 17th anniversary of my independent driving life. I have been a driver now longer than I was not a driver. This seems worth noting.
Why would I remember this date? Fittingly, I got my driver's license on my mother's birthday, the year that I was 16. And today is her birthday. (I know, she's a Scorpio. Scary, huh?) I say it is fitting because I might still not have a license if it were not for the fact that she threatened to ground me until I got it. See, because I was a terrible, terrible driver. And I had older friends who all agreed to drive me around. But my parents had to pick up the slack, and apparently they didn't appreciate it so much. So that's why, 9 months after my 16th, she had to take drastic measures.
I passed my test, but I shouldn't have (I turned left off a one way street from the center lane, which should have meant an automatic failure). When I got back, I could see that she was clearly happier about it than I was. She made me drive to my dad's office to tell him and I drove off the parking lot in his old work car--a white Oldsmobile Cutlass which became known as "Bessie" in honor of her cow-like qualities. (Lumbering, slow, a propensity to think for a long time before starting.)
Anyway, in typical Karen fashion she made me a driver by shoving me into it. And I'm better for it. (Let's face it, we're all better for it.) Happy birthday to her.