Driving Me Mad

High school boys shouldn’t own cars—at least that’s what I told my first two sons.

I’ve watched enough movies to know what dangers lurk when a teenager has wheels: speed, accidents, "sex, drugs and rock & roll."

So, when my first two boys turned 16, I stressed that we had a spare available, and if all went well, they would retain the privilege of driving it.

Then along came my third son, the “gear head.”

As a toddler, he loved wheels and speed more than his ball-crazed brothers. His first word was “truck,” he only “read” picture books showing vehicles and at his in-home day care, he made sure to “park” the push toy curbside before heading home.

He spent hours “driving” our Fred Flintstone-like foot-powered “mini-van,” and he treated his electric jeep like a real car – checking the tires and hosing it off in the driveway.

When Son #3 was about 10, we consolidated the funds we and Grandma would have allocated for Christmas and his birthday (Dec. 26) and bought him a gas-powered scooter. The kid could not have been happier, and he proved a safe and responsible driver.

However, he soon became bored with scooter #1, sold it via eBay or Craig’s list, and bought a bigger, faster model. Before long, he was spending all of his lawn-mowing money on parts to make a succession of scooters faster and, seemingly, louder. Friends started dropping off scooters, in various states of disrepair, that they – or their parents – had tired of.

He would track FedEx and UPS deliveries online, and sit by the window until the trucks arrived with the next shipment of parts. He spent hours watching YouTube videos explaining how to repair and improve two- and four-stroke engines.

Recently, he calculated that he had gone through 13 scooters, making a sizeable profit along the way.

My husband and I worried that our son would never be content; that he would always search for something faster and better, and that he would eventually get injured.

Last fall, soon after starting high school, he befriended an upper classman in his “Small Engine Repair” class, who tipped him off to a 30-year-old BMW “5-Series” being sold for a song; it just needed “a little work.”

Our son had saved enough money for the purchase (from the scooter sales and yard work), and would have plenty left over to pay for insurance. The fact that he was still 14 and not even old enough for driver’s ed was of little consequence.

My husband and I reaffirmed our stand: high school boys should not own cars.

And then, one day, I had a change of heart while thinking of my brother Rick, who passed away a decade ago.

Rick had spent his middle-school years buying, improving and racing tiny “slot cars.” He soon moved on to real engines, and turned a VW-Bug into a dune buggy before completing driver’s ed.

He continued to overhaul and sell cars throughout his teens, and, after college, moved to Hawaii to open a car-repair business and teach high school auto-mechanics.

So who was I to keep my own son away from gas-powered engines?

We broke down and made room in the driveway for the old Beemer.

Life changed suddenly for #3. He had a sense of joy and purpose that we had never before witnessed. Through online BMW forums, he discussed minutiae with men three or four times his age. Via Skype from Chicago, Uncle Al asked for a tour of the engine. Through Facebook, Uncle Dave, a BMW fan who lives in California, strengthened their relationship. And “Uncle John” (my first cousin) in Atlanta sent a BMW repair manual for Christmas.

He spent hours under the hood and taught himself to drive a stick-shift in our driveway. Once he turned 15 and started driver’s ed, he begged me to go on drives daily.

And then, six months before he would turn 16, my son was ready to sell the car.

Our first thought was, here we go again. He’s never going to be happy with one car, and will constantly crave something better.

On the other hand, we figured that Car #1 had been a great learning tool, and Boy #3 was ready to broaden his education.

So, with great sadness, we all watched our son’s first baby leave “the lot” last Friday.

The following morning, he came to the breakfast table with a sense of urgency: he had spotted an amazing 3-series BMW on Craig’s List. It was five years younger than Car #1, in near-perfect condition and amazingly cheap.

Who were we to argue?

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