I was pulling out of the driving, likely in a hurry to a practice or meeting I was already late for, when my daughter panicked and told me to stop the car. I hit the brakes, expecting her to tell me she had forgotten something or that I was about to back into the garbage can (again).
Instead, she wanted out to rescue my son’s old go-kart we had placed on the curb. She pleaded with me that we couldn’t possibly part with this small go-kart that no one has driven in at least a half dozen years and likely doesn’t even work. Even though it was never her go-kart, she expressed too many fond memories to just throw it away.
My husband explained that the hope was someone with a younger child would gladly grab it and get it back in working condition. We reminded her that she would have her permit in less than a year (help us all) and drive a real car and maybe she could let it go.
Need for Speed
I can 100% relate to my daughter’s struggle to let things go, but I cannot remember all these fond memories she pretended to have. The only one I remembered was her wrecking it into my car and being completely inconsolable. We bought the go-kart for my son for his eighth Christmas. I knew our years of him believing in Santa were fading. Our cul-de-sac full of boys made for a perfect location for him to drive around and my husband reluctantly purchased it, mostly so I’d quit texting him that it was on sale.
Santa came a day early, and we packed the go-kart before heading to my parents’ house for the holiday. My parents also live on a cul-de-sac, but theirs has a parking island in the middle—which, to an 8-year-old with a fresh set of wheels, looks an awful lot like a racetrack. My husband (clearly more of a safety-first person than me) was smart enough to throw his bike helmet in the back along with our gifts.
My son and his cousins went round and round and drained the battery and wore the tire treads thin in one day. My 5-year-old daughter was mostly happy just to watch or chase behind them, but as the cousins started to wear down I encouraged her to give it a go. I grabbed the bike helmet from whatever 8-year-old was next in line for the keys and attempted to place it on her head.
Hitting the Gas
She tried to tell me that she was scared and didn’t want a turn, but I just buckled the strap under her chin. I tried to convince her that it would be fun, to just try it, I’d be right there. Pretty much all the things an after school special warns you against peer pressure. I was not trying to ignore her boundaries so much as I wanted my occasionally anxious child to not let fear win. I did not want her simply watching from the sidelines; I wanted her in the driver’s seat.
The bike helmet was too big and dipped over her eyebrows as she tried to tell me that she was only 5 and didn’t know how to drive yet. I told her there was nothing to it (although my driving record says different) and showed her how to push the throttle forward a bit. She zoomed down the driveway, screaming, straight into the bumper of my new car.
I chased after her while the go-kart rolled off, but I was no match for the now-recharged battery. She hollered. My husband kept yelling “let her go.” I thought maybe he knew about some magic go-kart air bag or crumple zones. Instead, he had really been yelling “let it go” to my little race car driver. As in, let go of the throttle. Stop giving it gas and it will stop. As usual I misunderstood. Apparently, he didn’t realize that he was talking to this little tiny miniature version of me, that even at five, only knew how to go at one speed.
Are You Speeding Through Life?
My girl hit the rear bumper of my car at full speed and flopped forward. There were no skinned knees. No broken bones. No missing teeth and not even any new dents in my car. However, she cried and carried on like she had just been cut out of the go-kart with the jaws of life. I couldn’t believe how foolish I’d been. How I’d pushed her without teaching her the most important things:
How to use the breaks.
How to slow down. To stop. To change directions.
How to do anything except hit the gas.
She had wrecked for the same exact reason I often do: for going full speed even when I realize I should slow down.
For jumping in without being ready.
For not stopping or bailing even when it is time.
For not knowing how to simply let go.
Almost a decade later, and we carry different memories for this discarded go-kart.
My daughter eventually learned how to brake, and her memories are of going round and round our neighborhood, not me forcing her to try something before she was ready. I’m still nervous about her next birthday—the one where we start drivers ed and all those practice hours behind the wheel.
After our neighbor picked up our go-kart and dusted it off, I asked my daughter if she was ready to start driving in the fall. My now confident child said she wasn’t sure. I told her we’d practice plenty in empty parking lots before then. In all her 5- and 14-year-old wisdom, she replied, “Maybe dad should do that.” I couldn’t agree more.
(Photo by miguel sinisterra/Unsplash)
— If you find yourself busy and racing through life, you’re likely experiencing at least some level of stress. While you learn to brake, here are some tips for keeping your stress levels under control:If You’re Ready to Leave Stress Behind – 256
I am an educator and write online at www.michellewallishurst.com My favorite topics are faith, chronic illness, hope, relationships and middle age. I love to read, write, hike and nap. I drink in all the coffee, tea, wine and books I can get my hands on. I used to run long races, but now I mostly run errands. I struggle with faith, questions, complicated relationships, pain and details like where I put my keys. I often don’t know how I feel until I see it typed out. I know both how important and scary hope can be. I find myself questioning my small and ordinary life one minute and the next minute being absolutely overwhelmed by the beauty of it.
