MOM ON THE RUN: Daughter not worried by solo long drive to camp

After so many decades of insomnia, I know full well that brilliant ideas and clear-as-bell insights hatched in the middle of the night are generally neither. The morning sun virtually always exposes deeply flawed thinking.

But I think I’m going to mention my dark worries anyway this time; it’s now or never. My daughter has the car loaded up, she’s got the map and the GPS and the printed MapQuest instructions. She’s got cash, a credit card, and a fresh oil change. I don’t want to insult or alarm her, but I am definitely nervous about my 17 ½-year-old driving four hours to camp all by herself. So, though we’ve already discussed everything at length, of course, I am dispensing last-minute advice and instruction as she prepares to leave.

“Pull off, have a snack and walk around for a minute if you feel the least bit tired,” I told her first. “Singing to the radio helps, too, but nothing’s as good as a real-life conversation to make you fully alert.”
“Uh-huh,” she said, wrapping her toasted bagel in a napkin.

“You know where the speed traps are, right? Be careful when you pass any access roads in the median.”

“Mom, I’m not going to be speeding.”

“Of course not!” I pause a second: “But if you’re surrounded by trucks, really, the safest speed is whatever speed they’re going.” Yeesh, that’s terrifying, trucks before, behind, and beside me, and I’ve been driving for more than 20 years! How’s my inexperienced daughter going to handle it? For the thousandth time I think: Are we crazy? Letting her go alone?

“Mom. I know. I’m not taking the highway. There won’t be all those trucks. It’ll be fine.”

I let that pass without comment. Her confidence is comforting, but … but there’s so much that she doesn’t know. “Stop at least once. Lynchburg is a good spot, it’s about half-way. There are lots of restaurants right off the exit, and it’s easy to get back on.”

“I was already planning to stop at Lynchburg.”

“Or you could stop before. That’s OK, too, whenever you feel like you need to stop.”
“I know.”

“And whenever you stop, call me, so I know where you are and how you’re doing. Pull over and call whenever you have any questions, any concerns at all.”

“I will.” She’s walking out to the car, keys, cell phone and bagel in her hand. Her luggage is in the trunk, and there’s a mound of pillow, backpack, and sweatshirt in the back seat. There’s a bottle of green tea in the cup-holder and a spare lying on the passenger seat. The car has a full tank of gas, and it got a tune-up and oil change just the day before yesterday. I know my kid and the car are ready …

she’s a good driver, mature and careful, and it’s an easy drive, one she’s ridden many times and driven part-way before. I should just wave and let her go.

Except that the horror movie middle-of-the-night images are fresh in my mind. I’ve covered all the regular concerns, but …: “You know that sometimes bad guys dress up like police officers and pull young women over, right?”

My daughter stops, turns, looks at me, meets my gaze full on. She is being very patient, considering we’ve already discussed this trip in great depth. I know she’s probably right, that I’m worrying unnecessarily, but still .…

I rush to make my point: “So drive until there are other people around, until you feel safe pulling over. You’re allowed to do that.”
“I will, Mom,” my daughter says, and she folds herself into the driver’s seat, shuts the door, turns the key, and drives away. I look at the sun, breathe deeply, and wait hopefully for the midnight fears to dissolve away.

Lianne Wilkens lives with her family in Manassas. She can be reached at liannewilkens@hotmail.com, or follow her on Twitter @MessengerMOTR.