Closing my eyes every night, I could see the mangled wreckage of my brother's Honda Civic, coming off the highway guardrail, looking less like a car than some terrible and bloody accident. He had been learning to drive that summer. At seventeen, he, like me, was as sure of himself as he may ever be. A group conversation was buzzing his phone: "You up for a late-night cruise?" He looked down for a moment—just that. Then everything changed. Suddenly, sirens and flashing lights filled my world; before my eyes was an image of his blood-stained knuckles gripping the steering wheel. I wish I could say it taught him a lesson without cost. I never saw him emerge from that wreck. My hardest moment was losing him; it was also the moment when, for the first time, I really understood how much more than mere words on a billboard "keeping teen drivers safe" must be in this country. It must encompass an entire movement built on education, empathy and forthrightness, and unstinting truth.
Young people aren’t small adults. Our brains are still developing, trying to wire themselves for impulse control and long‐term planning—the very faculties on which safe driving relies. This is why driver’s education is so important, for it doesn’t simply teach traffic laws only. More critically still, it re‐teaches our reflexes. When I enrolled in my first driver's ed class, it was supposed to be a quick way to freedom, without a hint of bills or life's hard knocks. Then, however, the on‐the-street drills in emergency braking gave me the idea that one can freeze up reflexively but still turn well because he knows his purpose straight off. Or the physics-of-skidding classroom module made it clear to me that losing control isn't a matter of speech alone: At sixty miles an hour, one slides—a “no-good direction” where you are bound to land. Every bit of that course became a kind of armor for later use—protection for those times when you would have to decide between calling for help on a smartphone and steering with both hands.
Virtually nothing rivals the distractions faced by teenage drivers at the wheel. A text message, an alarm clock on their car multimedia control panel—whether it is shutting down Bluetooth or selecting their favorite song—one of these can pull my eyes away from the road for fractions of a second. Add in peer pressure, like friends prodding me to “see how fast you can go” or blaring music so loud that I can’t hear the sounds of emergency vehicles—then it becomes a gamble to make it home. And last but not least, there is my youthful lack of exposure to events. I once braked hard on a rain‐slick patch and skidded 180 degrees through an empty parking lot. My heart was pounding but I thought of what the teacher had told us all: “Don’t steer into the skid—steer where you want to go.” So I did, and walked away with nerves—but myself fine.
To work for those ends, I have had to put into practice some good habits. First, I never get behind the wheel of my car without setting my phone to “Do Not Disturb.” In this mode, it quietly holds off any notifications—which might demand immediate attention as soon as you see them—and sends a text on your behalf so that you don't even have to hear it. Second, I brief my passengers throughout the journey—saying first that safety is more important than seeing who can play the loudest music; that short bit of conversation before we get wheels turning sets a direction for all future miles. Moreover, I gain experience learned from practice miles, which are different each time—in the rain, at dusk or on highways. It's all about saving muscle memory, and saving muscle memories can sometimes save lives when panic sets in. Jamie went with me last spring to learn to drive. When we reached the highway ramp, she got nervous and suddenly looked at her phone to "check her GPS." In that instant, the car in front of us braked sharply. I did likewise, only to see Jamie’s car slide a few feet from the guardrail. In a little while, tears poured down her face. She said in a low voice, “I could have killed us.” Driver’s ed taught me how to react, but it was the shock in Jamie’s eyes that really brought home the cost of an instant’s distraction. When I saw her as though scared to death, I realized that each teenage driver needs not only know-how and skills but empathy for the dangers we all run every minute we're in a car.
This problem cannot be solved by teenagers themselves alone. So, how about the integration of defensive-driving clinics into schools' health classes? Students participate in simulated car crashes and observe skid-pad demonstrations of physics the wreck. He realizes casualties - this really happens. Also, on “Safe Drive Sundays,” local parking lots can host community events like this where families go through stations set up for fitting with a seat belt. Or travel through areas dotted around prepared by others that show what distraction see the road and each other is indeed harmful for moving 4 million-plus people safely within miles of one another at cruising speed: All you have to do is drive. One such exercise draws a peace. W 25 sign with a 1 that appears to be executed in the violent, this senseless crime of destruction and murder. For what are you going to hold a driver responsible grief-struck families? We are building the heavy sword arm of the law and moving to catch wind of every illegal fastener we can find.
When we create a culture where safe driving is demanded of all, not just something done for oneself, many more lives are saved. This is the legacy I leave behind for my brother in Old Town. In short, greater protections for driver education; facing distractions head-on; and weaving security into our sense of community—combined with occasional tweaks or overhauls of driving technology when necessary. This brings about teenagers who are behind the wheel not simply hoping for some thrills but driving in earnest towards their own lives and those belonging to everyone else on the road.