The Road Test

Jacob took his road test at the Sandy Springs branch of the Georgia Department of Driver Services approximately two years after he first received his Learner’s Permit at the Westminster Branch of the Maryland Motor Vehicle Administration. Our move to Atlanta, and the requirement that he begin the process anew, was the primary reasons for the delay. Our sense of dread was, most probably, lurking somewhere in the background as a further deterrent.

It was all planned out: I would pick Jacob up at his school at 1:30 pm. The drive to the Department of Driver Services (DDS) branch would take 10 minutes. Jacob would have ample time to fill out the requisite forms and calm himself down before the time for the test arrived. At 1:20 pm I finished writing an email, looked at the clock and realized to my horror that it was - 1:20 pm. Driving like I hoped Jacob never would, I arrived at his school at 1:23 pm. He was nowhere to be found. The receptionist intercommed the Economics teacher – to no avail. The administrator barked into her walkie talkie; to no avail. I pleaded to be allowed to go search the halls; to no avail. Finally, at 1:40 pm he emerged from the stairwell apologetically – providing a fine alliterative pairing to my state of apoplexy.

“I forgot”

Again, driving like I hoped he never would, we arrived at the DDS at 1:50 pm. Two lines and three forms later, at 2:05 pm, we were ready. No, that is a misstatement; all the required administrative requirements had been carried out. I am still not ready

As Jacob completed the last of the forms, I went outside and moved the car from the parking space to the curb in front of DDS, and stood outside and waited.
The examiner came first. I was expecting a state trooper with badge, Smokey the Bear hat; Glock and pepper spray dispenser. Instead, he was a slight, middle aged man with a goatee, yellow knit shirt and a warm smile.

“Is he ready?” He enquired.
So many answers swirled through my head. But this was not the time for honesty.
“Yes”
“A Prius” “What year?”
“2007”
“Do you like it?”
“It’s great”
“Is he nervous?”
“Like you wouldn’t believe.”
“Don’t worry, I calm them down. I sing Frank Sinatra to them.”
“I’m not sure whether that would make things better or worse”
He smiled.

Jacob emerged from the building and, after a brief inspecting of the lights, horn and turning signals he and the driving examiner entered the car, strapped on seat belts and drove through and out of the DDS parking lot. Not quite knowing what to do with myself, I lingered outside on the curb in the August in Atlanta humidity.

To say that I was nervous doesn’t quite get at the complexity of my emotion state at that time. “Is he ready?” What kind of question is that? The crucial question is "am I ready? Is this another test along the path to normalcy? How far has he really come? How much will my auto insurance go up? I pondered this emotional Gordian knot as I made my way to the bathroom. As I exited, graffiti on the wall provided a valuable perspective and put things in their place: “Wash your hands asshole”.

I opened the book I had brought with me to pass the time but could not find the concentration to read a single word. Instead, I practiced my Torah reading for the next day. “Thou shalt not abhor an Edomite, for he is thy brother; thou shalt not abhor an Egyptian, because thou was a stranger in his land.” I looked for meaning in the verses, but could find none.

After fifteen minutes, I spied the Prius returning to the parking lot. It disappeared behind the rows of cars and then, Jacob emerged, walking toward me, looking solemn. I prepared words of condolence.

At three feet he broke out in a grin and proclaimed: “I passed”
We hugged

As the examiner passed by he proclaimed: “He did very well – he’s ready”
Not quite knowing what to say, I responded: “You’re a mench” (Yiddish – you’re a good man)
“Gay G’zint (Yiddish - “go in good health”).
It’s a strange world.

Jacob and I returned to the DDS office to complete the requisite form filling, photo taking and fee paying. As he stood in line I e-mailed Jo, Alya and Naomi: “Holy Shit – PASSED”

Fine minutes later, Jo responded “OMG”

My Facebook post: “Under the joint heading of miracles and profound anxiety attacks Jacob just passed his road test. I don't know whether I should say a Shehehiau (a prayer of thanks for reaching an auspicious occasion) or Gomel (a prayer for making through a dangerous time). I don't know whether to celebrate or throw up. I know; I'll drink heavily.

We drove home looking for a suitable ice cream place to celebrate. As we drove, a wishful litany, written 15 years ago, repeated itself in my head: “Jacob will go to school and he will have friends. He will join a soccer team and play an instrument. He will be bar-mitzvahed and will go out on dates. He will drive a car. He may not go to MIT, but he just might. But then again, that will be his choice.”

We’re almost there.