As any parent knows, wanting to protect your children from harm, wanting them to succeed, helping to fulfill their dreams, is part and parcel of raising kids. And as any parent of a teenager will likely tell you, it gets harder instead of easier, the issues more
complex, the emotional stakes higher.

In any teen's life, two rites of passage stand out: first love and getting a driver's license. As complicated as both those matters can be, when you factor autism into the equation, you have to have a mastery of higher math and a grasp of the chemistry of the volatile emotions of teenagers firmly in your mind.

Although I had mixed feelings about them falling in love, I firmly believed that Stephen and Phillip had the right to apply for and to try to get their driver's licenses. If they passed the written and the driving tests, demonstrating the competency
that any other citizen possessed, then why not?

On the other hand, I had some pretty good why-nots in mind. The anxiety level they both exhibited in new situations, especially when exposed to things like loud noises, would potentially make them a danger to themselves and to other drivers. All the medications that Phillip was on and the unpredictable interactions among those drugs didn't make him a good candidate for driving. When I stacked those reasons up against their strong desire to drive, and what more potent symbol of a teen's freedom and independence exists than driving, I was torn. I didn't want to be the one to stand in the way of their dream being fulfilled. To give you a better idea of how much driving meant to him, Phillip had written a song aptly titled "The DMV Song." I didn't like to ever play favorites, but I could reasonably imagine Stephen being able to earn his license. With Phillip, I thought the odds were stacked against him.

On one occasion, I took them both to the DMV office. I turned them loose after telling them which line to stand in. I sat in a waiting area with my fingers crossed, hoping that they'd both fail the written test. I knew that would greatly disappoint them both, but failing on their own was better than me not allowing them to do something they wanted so badly to do. The first time Phillip took the written test, I could see that he was struggling. I don't know if it was nerves or what, but I could read the panic in his eyes as he scanned the questions. That surprised me since they had both studied very hard for the test. When Phillip completed his test and brought it to the clerk, he kind of shuffled up and looked as though he was about to collapse within himself. It took a few moments for him to get his score, and when he was called back up, it was clear that he hadn't passed. I breathed a deep sigh of relief. Stephen had already passed the written portion of the exam and was in line to take the vision test. I now only had one to worry about.

Miracle Run

Then I noticed that the clerk had taken Phillip aside. I didn't want to make a scene, so I stood up and inched my way closer to where the pair was standing. The clerk, obviously very sympathetic to Phillip's plight, was asking him a series of really basic
questions about driving. The next thing I knew, he was shaking Phillip's hand and congratulating him for passing the written test. I couldn't believe it. It was a nice gesture, but all I could think of was that he was hoping that Phillip wouldn't make it past some of the other hurdles he had yet to face.

As it turned out, neither of the boys passed the driving portion of the exam. I was so relieved. They both vowed to work harder and to pass the next time. As bad as I felt rooting against my sons, I knew that in the end their not getting to drive was a good thing. I would hate for them to do harm to themselves and to another driver or pedestrian. Balancing what is right for them with the needs of the larger community is an ongoing task.