Eileen Cichello

There are few periods of life more terrifying than when your teenagers take to the road. We had a rule in our house that you couldn't take your driver's test until your seventeenth birthday. Another rule (mine) was that I was in no way going to be involved in the learning process! Early on, I told my husband Sam that this was HIS job. I never regretted that decision. I also stated that I wouldn't ride with any of the kids until they passed their driving test. UnAmerican? So what? I grew up in Ireland.

Actually, Sam was a very good choice for driving instructor. He remained calm under all conditions. The day Mary, our oldest, was to go for her driver's test, Sam and she decided that she needed more practice parallel parking. Sam parked one of our cars on the street and had Mary parallel park our other car next to it. She promptly removed a good amount of paint from both cars. Mary said that Sam just told her not to worry, she was a fine driver. Off they went to take the test. Mary passed.

Now we were in the "Do you need anything at the Big M? In Auburn?" mode. I need never have left the house and would still have had all necessary materials supplied indefinitely.

The summer after Mary got her driver's license, we left the kids home alone for a weekend for the first time, to go to a wedding in Pittsburgh. We thought we'd covered all the bases before leaving. No parties, under threat of annihilation. No having friends in, etc. etc. Nothing left to chance, we thought. Our friends, the Deverells, agreed to stop in from time to time to make sure everything was okay.

At the wedding reception, moved by the "eyes in the back of your head " syndrome God gives to mothers, I casually called home to see how everything was going. No answer. Well, they'd probably just gone to the store or something. I tried again a little later. Still no answer. I called the Deverells.

"THEY WHAT?" I shrieked into the phone. Seems like a few days before we left, one of the girls came up with the bright idea that while we were gone Mary would drive them all to Cobleskill to visit my parents. All three girls to this day deny responsibility for initiating this trip, even though the statute of limitations has long since expired. Mary and Teresa say, "It must have been Claire."

To get to Cobleskill from Weedsport, you drive about 135 miles, much of it on very windy roads. Up to this point, the farthest Mary had been allowed to take the car had been to Auburn. Remember, this was our first teenage driver.

My parents were delighted to see them, until they learned that Sam and I had no clue about this trip. My mother insisted that they call the Deverells and let them know where they were.

I called Cobleskill.

"The kids just wanted to see us," said my Dad in pleased tones. "We fed them and they're on their way home. Don't be too hard on them."

Right! This from the man who wouldn't allow me behind the wheel of his car until I graduated from college!

"I'll boil them in oil! I'll murder them! They'll be grounded until they're thirty!" I yelled.

I kept calling Weedsport until finally the phone was answered. I don't recall what I said to them but I know it wasn't pretty.

The girls were grounded for a month. The boys escaped, being considered too young to have any choice in the matter. (They ranged in age from thirteen to seven.) Teresa is still ticked about that. Figures Anthony, at thirteen, should have been grounded, too.

To be continued.....

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