Milestones, Late Blooming, and the Law

In life, there will always be early bloomers. The guys that grow up to be 2 feet taller than everyone else in the class and have a wannabe Tom Selleck mustache, and the gals whose faces were hit by puberty so hard they have to wear twenty pounds of makeup. However, with every early bloomer, there’s an equal and opposite late bloomer. I’ve always been the latter. I didn’t break five feet until 9^th grade, and that is including my poofy, childish up doo.

Also, the rule of early and late bloomers applies to more than just body growth; it applies to almost every milestone one must reach in modern life. There are people who get their first girlfriend or boyfriend in elementary school, where they sit next to each other in Ms. Stevenson’s class, share their animal crackers and always play the ‘mommy’ and ‘daddy’ together when they play make-believe. On the other hand, there are the people that find their soul mate after being single for thirty years. No matter what milestone, the point is, there are always late bloomers. As I said before, I am, always have been and always will be a late bloomer. Now, some folks may see this as a hindrance, I, though, count myself lucky. Reaching milestones later than my friends gives me a (literal) once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to learn from their mistakes. My friends dive face-first into the frightening pool of responsibility and I sit back and watch them fail, waiting for the waters to calm. For example, it’s expected of a junior in high school to already have taken the ACT if they plan on going to college. I am planning to go to college, but I have yet to take the exam because I’m still taking mental notes on my friends’ mistakes and past experiences. I now know that it takes more than just twenty-three hours of cramming before the test to make a score above 19.

On occasion, sitting back and waiting as long as possible to reach such important milestones isn’t such a good idea. Procrastination doesn’t always pay off…unfortunately. One particular milestone that pops into my head when on this subject is the unofficial ‘teenage dream’: Driving. Most of my friends turned fourteen around the same time, while I was still a socially inept thirteen-year-old (again, a late bloomer), and they all rushed to take the drivers’ permit test. Once again, I stood on the sidelines waiting for my buddies to report back with intel, taking notes and carefully planning my approach to said test. And I spend a lot of time planning my attack. By the time I was ready to take my permit test for the first time…I was almost sixteen, and most of my friends had already taken the driving portion of their test and had been driving on the public roads with bona fide licenses for a majority of the school year like a bunch of big-shots. My friends had poked fun at me for not having a license, or a permit for that matter. After all the torture of such mockery, I decided enough is enough and dedicated myself to getting my license, no matter the cost. 

    I had no idea at the time, but rushing into such a momentous event would eventually backfire. My parents reluctantly kept up with my preferred pace of learning, moving from ‘learning the ropes’ to ‘advanced driving techniques behind the wheel’ in matter of days. Not too long afterwards, I felt confident that I was ready to pass this test. And pass the crap out of it. Needless to say, I was a wee bit cocky. My self-confidence didn’t impede my success in getting my license; I passed the road test with flying colors. The problems came when I began driving by myself. Being in a car alone and on the road gave me a sense of victory and pride that made me believe I was the best driver in the world. This firm trust in my abilities made me want to attempt driving other people around town, specifically people who couldn’t drive themselves. It gave me a sense of ha-ha-in-your-face that was better than I could have imagined.

Now comes the trouble. After driving myself to school and other places that my friends would be, I would offer everyone a ride, despite the fact I signed a legal oath not to drive with more than one unrelated minor. One day, this offer would inevitably lead to me getting one of the biggest scares of my life. I had driven myself to a Wednesday night service of church with a youth group of close friends. After the service, I stuck around moving from group to group nonchalantly asking if anyone at all needed a ride. Eventually, I was talking to a group of girls that, for the most part, drove themselves, doubting that any needed a ride home. I began believing I was driving myself home, abandoning my hope of gaining that “ha-ha-in-your-face” feeling mentioned earlier. I popped the question anyway and, low and behold, one of the girls tapped me on the shoulder asking if it was okay if I drove her home. I calmly agreed to be her chauffeur for the evening, but on the inside I lit up like the sun. Several factors made this especially exhilarating. First of all, I had someone to drive home. I was going to get the satisfaction I so desperately craved. Second, it was a girl! I had daydreamed about being the cool guy in the amazing car driving a multitude of ladies around with me…one girl in the car, for real, was close enough. Lastly, this wasn’t just ‘some girl’; this was a girl I was especially fond of, and nearly all those daydreams specifically had her in the front seat. I wasn’t happy to be driving her home. I was straight up giddy.

The two of us walked through the 8:45 p.m. darkness to the end of the parking lot and got into the car. I tried to keep it cool, I allowed her control of the radio and told a few disappointing driving jokes (what else could I do?!) and we were on our way. All was well to begin; I had good reason to be confident. I flowed over the bumps in the road so smoothly that she probably thought she was sailing on the ocean while a calm, rolling breeze drifted by. Little did I know, the planets would soon align in such a way that the dream ride with my dream girl would go awry and come to an embarrassing conclusion.

Here’s how it went down; I took a left onto a two-way street behind an enormous sports utility vehicle and we were both stopped at the nearest stoplight. Being in a short compact Corolla, I never noticed the faded signs informing me “Right turn only” from behind such a gigantic car. The SUV proceed into a nearby parking space, disregarding the signs, and I, being the ignorant teen I was having my attention drawn towards the ‘distraction’ in the passenger’s seat, followed the SUV…going the wrong way on a one-way street. I quickly became aware of my error and stuntdriver’d  my way into several of the closest parking spots, intending to right my wrong and turn right. I probably would have gotten away Scott-free…if only there hadn’t been a county patrol officer sitting at the stoplight adjacent to my pseudo-parking spot, in the perfect spot to observe every second of my unlawful flub. I turned down the correct road, taking in every consideration of the law in an attempt to leave every law I hadn’t already broken intact. However, the officers began to follow me. I could see in her eyes that my passenger was scared for me. At first, it seemed as though the officers might let me drive off.  It turns out that they were just playing a sick game with my conscience, lulling me into a sense of security from getting a ticket, allowing me to drive just far enough to allow me to think I was in the clear. But then they switched on their infamous, blinding lights.

The rest is history. I got a ticket, ‘nuff said. Although this whole incident was embarrassing to be happening in front of such an appealing lady, it didn’t turn out as bad as it could have been. She calmed me down and helped me see my mistake as a ‘funny story that I’ll look back at one day and laugh at’. Also, it happened at a fairly late hour, so there were few cars to crash into, going the wrong way and all. I didn’t get into too much trouble with my parents…although I do have to attend driving school on Saturday. Other than that, I feel lucky that the worst didn’t happen. I guess the lesson to be learned is that whatever happens, if it was something good, be thankful, and there’s always something worse that could happen. Also, late bloomers finish last…literally.