From brown to gray – riding with the kids and its affect on hair

I was in court this morning, lending moral support and questionable legal advice to my youngest son, age 17. James is a good kid, but one with dubious driving skills and a right foot that’s apparently too heavy to maintain the exact posted speed limit.

The infraction that landed him before the prosecutor was exceedingly minor, so much so that the case was dismissed, sans fine, jail time, points, or a speedy execution. James was relieved, as he had been lead to believe (by me) that the judge might hand down any or all of those sentences, depending on his mood.

A good scare goes a long way toward lightening that right foot, I believe.

I’m hoping in the future he’ll be more careful.

But the truth is, of my three kids James is probably the safest driver. My older children, Aubreii and Jordan, both in their mid-twenties, represent the kind of traffic menace rarely seen outside movies starring Sylvester Stallone or Bruce Willis.

I’m thinking about this now because I just returned from a weekend visit to Detroit, where Aubreii and Jordan now both reside. Jordan was working the big auto show there as a GMC rep, so I spent most of the weekend with my daughter.

My pickup seats only two and we had the grandkids with us most of the time, so Aubreii drove … through Detroit traffic … on icy, snowy roads … with screaming toddlers in the backseat … and the radio blasting … and the GPS yakking its digital head off in a futile effort to get Aubreii to turn at the proper intersections.

Tires squealed. I squealed. Cars swerved. Impolite hand gestures were exchanged.

And through it all, my darling daughter barely batted an eyelash. As my grasping fingers disappeared into the dashboard, she chatted unconcernedly about her new clients, the kids’ teachers and the interesting interview she heard recently on This American Life.

From time to time, she would glance at the road, but it was obvious the view didn’t hold much interest for her.

To make matters worse, my daughter drives one of those fuel-efficient, tiny Japanese cars. I’ve picked bigger things off the back of a hound dog. After years of looking down on traffic from the seat of my pickup, I feel incredibly vulnerable riding in any car that offers a clear view of the underside of most semi trailers.

Finally, there’s the fact that everyone in Detroit – every driver, at least – is actively trying to kill me.

Now, I lived in Detroit for years and got used to the traffic there. I’m sure there was a time when I drove like they all do. (Insanely.)

But for the past 15 years or so I’ve made my home in a town that makes Mayberry look like Manhattan. The only traffic problem I’m used to is slow-moving Amish buggies. Seriously, I can walk faster than the speed limit in my tiny burg.

So Detroit, my daughter, her Barbie-mobile … they all took their toll this past weekend.

I wonder if that Grecian Formula stuff really gets rid of grey hair.

To contact Mike Taylor with your questions, comments, or driving tips for teenagers, e-mail mtaylor325@gmail.com or write via snail mail to: Mike Taylor, c/o Valley Media, Inc., PO Box 9, Jenison, MI 49429. Miss a week? More Reality Check online at www.mlive.com/advancenewspapers.