Holding the Wheel, Holding Lives

My dad has been a professional driver for over a year. With a CDL license, he’s spent hundreds of hours on the road hauling freight across states. He always tells me, “You respect the wheel, or it’ll remind you why you should have.” This sentence echoed in my head the first time I sat behind the wheel at fifteen. The engine started, and my palms were sweaty; I suddenly realized I wasn’t just responsible for my own life or the care of a vehicle, but also for every life around me.

Teen driver safety is more than a rulebook or a warning; it’s a public health issue. Every year, we lose thousands of young lives to preventable car accidents. An unacceptable tragedy that affects far more than those who lost their lives. What scares me the most is how easy it is to forget this danger and tragedy when you’re full of adrenaline and chasing the wind. At sixteen, we get a license and feel invincible. As if we’ve earned the right to take risks by obtaining a plastic card. But the truth is that a license is just the beginning of learning how to be responsible.

Driver’s education gave me the technical skills—how to merge, check mirrors, read signs—but it was my dad’s stories and guidance on the road that taught me what awareness really means. He once saw a teenager in a pickup texting while turning onto a highway ramp. The kid swerved last second and barely missed an eighteen-wheeler. It was this exposure to others’ mistakes that helped to instill helpful habits for having a full visualization of what’s going on all around.

The presence that driving demands is hard to come by in my generation. Undivided awareness is reserved for doom-scrolling. We’ve grown up with constant digital stimulation every few minutes—texts, notifications, Snap streaks. The pressure to stay connected doesn’t stop just when we get in the driver’s seat. I’ve watched friends try to answer a text at a red light, then forget the light turned green. I’ve seen some try to check a playlist on Spotify while turning. It only takes a second for something to go wrong.

One of the biggest challenges young drivers face is inexperience. You don’t know what you don’t know until something catches you off guard. I remember the first time I drove in the rain. Hydroplaning wasn’t just a word anymore; it was something my tires did. My hands locked on the wheel, my heart pounded, and I realized how easy it was to panic when you don’t have the muscle memory to fall back on. The only reason I managed to pull through was because my dad had practiced with me.

Peer pressure adds another layer. I’ve been in cars where the driver speeds up because someone in the backseat yells, “Let’s go faster!” I’ve seen people show off on turns, blaring music, laughing, distracted. It’s hard to say no when everyone else is hyped. But those are the moments when courage matters most, when you have to choose being safe over being cool. If you can’t make that choice behind the wheel, you shouldn’t be in the driver’s seat.

Learning to drive safely also means learning to be comfortable behind the wheel. Not overly confident, but calm and prepared. That’s something that takes time and support. Schools and communities have a big role to play here. We need more realistic, hands-on driving education with courses that include real-world challenges like night driving, bad weather, and emergency handling. Guest speakers, like EMTs or crash survivors, can bring the message home in ways a textbook could never. Stories are what stay with people.

Parents also play a critical role. It helps when they model the behavior they expect—buckling up every time, not using their phones, and staying calm in traffic. My dad made me drive with him for a whole year before letting me take the car alone. He didn’t care that I passed the driving test. He cared about my safety and abilities to handle inevitable traffic situations. I didn’t get why he was so thorough at the time, but I do now.

As young adults, we need to take ownership of our habits. It starts with a mindset shift. Every time we drive, we’re making a statement about how much we value life. That might mean turning your phone on Do Not Disturb, speaking up when a friend drives recklessly, or choosing not to drive at all if you’ve used any substance. Looking back, I’m grateful for the combination of driver’s ed and the real-life lessons my dad gave me. Both shaped how I see the road, not just as a path to a destination, but as a space where I hold power and responsibility. Safe driving isn’t just a personal choice but a public duty.

So the next time I turn the key, I remember: I carry more than myself in this car. I carry every lesson, every story, every warning. And above all, I carry the ability to choose awareness, every single mile.