If you had asked me a year ago what reckless driving looked like, I would’ve just pointed at my best friend behind the wheel and said, “That.”
We were flying down the back roads of Virginia on the way to Ashland Berry Farm for their Halloween nights. Farm roads stretched out ahead of us, no streetlights, just our headlights cutting through the dark. The music was loud, the windows were cracked, and the speedometer was pushing past 90 mph. We were laughing, yelling, cranking up the volume, and singing along. Every hill we hit made the car lift slightly, and we’d look at each other grinning because we were flying. At the time, it felt like freedom. It felt like being young and alive and dumb.
I spent the first eighteen years of my life in the passenger seat, watching how people drove, analyzing without even realizing it. I didn’t get my license until this July, just three months before turning nineteen. So I had a long time to sit and watch, longer than most. I saw parents multitasking, friends checking Snapchats at red lights, people speeding in school zones, or worse, speeding through yellow lights just to avoid stopping. But none of those drivers impacted me the way my friend did, because he made recklessness look fun.
That started to change when I began seriously preparing for my own license. Behind the wheel, things didn’t look so carefree anymore. I imagined myself in the opposite lane of those farm roads—not expecting my friend to fly toward me around a blind curve and catch me by surprise. Suddenly, every hill, every sharp turn in the rain, every time he didn’t slow down, stopped feeling like a rush. It felt dangerous. It felt immature. It felt stupid.
Oddly enough, I never took Driver's Education in my school, so I can’t give it credit for helping me break those reckless habits, but my parents. They were strict from the very beginning. If I sped or took a turn too fast during practice drives, they didn’t hesitate to tell me. No exceptions. Their nagging annoyed me to death. They drilled into me that being cautious isn’t about fear; it’s about respect, and that I should always be on defense, never on offense. In other words, it means to be safe so that other drivers and I can be as protected as possible. Their insistence kept me from developing bad habits, and every time I got behind the wheel, I felt a little more confident knowing I was learning the right way.
I once asked my friends what they thought of driver’s education classes at school; they described them as boring or useless. Hearing that made me realize this education needs to change. Teens have shorter attention spans, and when classes focus only on rules or dry lectures, we zone out. We also tend to believe we’re unstoppable, invincible, like nothing bad will happen to us. To change that mindset, driver’s ed should bring in people who’ve actually been in accidents, who can share real, raw stories of consequences. That kind of honesty makes driver’s safety hit home in a way textbooks never can.
But even with better education, accountability is still key. I never told my friend to slow down or stop driving recklessly, even though I was scared. I laughed it off or stayed silent because I didn’t want to ruin the fun or our friendship. Looking back, that silence could have cost lives. Accountability, speaking up when someone is driving dangerously, is one of the most critical parts of teen driver safety. Teen driver safety isn’t just about following rules. It’s about taking responsibility for yourself and others. It’s about understanding that when someone you care about gets behind the wheel, you have the power and the responsibility to keep them in check. It’s uncomfortable, yes, but necessary.
Some of the biggest challenges teen drivers face are peer pressure, distractions, and the myth that nothing bad will ever really happen. We think we’re invincible. But we’re not. I’ve seen close calls. And most of the time, it’s not some dramatic crash. It’s one bad decision. One text. One hill at 90 mph.
To build a culture of accountability, schools and communities can help by encouraging open conversations about driving risks. They can train teens not only to drive safely but also to speak up when friends drive dangerously. Peer-led programs, support groups, and real stories from survivors can break the silence that lets reckless driving continue.
Teens also need to take accountability for their own actions. Being a responsible driver means admitting when you’ve made a mistake, learning from it, and committing to safer habits. Driver’s education should emphasize these values, not just laws and skills.
Looking back on that night on the way to Ashland, I still remember how alive I felt. But now, I realize how close we were to something going wrong and how much I should have spoken up. The hills weren’t thrilling anymore; they were warning signs. Speeding wasn’t fun anymore; it was frightening. And flying? Flying felt a little too close to crashing.