I've never wrecked a car. Never totaled one. Never driven one by myself legally. I have knocked over an embarrassing number of orange traffic cones, though. Specifically, I've become a traffic cone killer of sorts and have left a swath of destruction in Hudson County parking lots like I'm hosting my own private demolition derby. I started innocently enough. I was practicing for my driver’s test at an empty lot along Route 3. My instructor, a stoic but angry guy, established four cones in a neat square. "Just pull in straight," he said.
I knocked over one. Then another. Then, much to his chagrin, all four. "You're destroying an entire family of cones," he complained. I chuckled. He didn't.
It was a spur-of-the-moment accident that turned into an unusual obsession. I had to see this through. Parallel parking was my Everest to climb. I watched YouTube instructions at midnight at 2 AM, drew angles on graphs like I was in the business of pulling a heist, and guilt-tripped my cousin into riding with me every weekend. My friend installed a VR car game and we spent hours attempting to practice parking in virtual rounds—more like crashing them.
I finally parked clean. No cones down. Yeah, I did it twice in a row. And when I did, I sat in that car as if I'd won the Daytona 500, palms sweating on the wheel, heart racing, instructor slightly impressed.
That wasn't about a parking space. That was about retaking control.
For here's the thing: most people think of driving school as a sequence of mechanical movements—mirror checks, signal timing, brake pressure. But underlying those small motions is a basis of something else: awareness, discipline, and decision-making. And most of all, humility.
I used to assume driver's ed was just something to tick off the list. I now know that it is one of the most crucial forms of instruction we receive in our teens. It is not merely instructing us to drive; we're being taught to become responsible. Every regulation, every technique, every "check your blind spot" is a measure for our protection—our protection and the protection for every other person out on the road.
I’m only 16. I don’t have the terrible story of driving into a tree or losing someone I love in an accident. But I have witnessed carelessness. I’ve sat in passenger seats with people texting while merging. I’ve seen friends speed through yellow lights like it’s a video game. And I’ve spoken out. Because I’ve learned that being a good driver starts before you ever get a license. It starts with a mindset of responsibility—not only for yourself, but for the strangers who ride the road alongside you. We study math to multiply matrices and memorize Shakespeare as children, but no one teaches us how to say no when a friend gets behind the wheel with one hand and the aux cord in the other. No one teaches us that a two-second distraction can erase two decades of memories.
That is why I believe driver's ed needs to be more than mandatory. It needs to be an interactive, participatory educational experience—based upon the real-world experience of teens. We need greater availability of realistic simulators in classrooms. More honest talk about the psychological toll of driving. More stories—not just numbers—that remind us why we care. Because behind every statistic is someone who once thought it wouldn’t happen to them. Someone who said, “It’s just one text,” or “I’ve driven tired before,” or “I’ll be fine.” But roads are not built on promises. They are built on choices.
I'd like to have safety courses instructed by teens themselves, where experienced teen drivers can share with others what they wish they'd learned themselves. I want instructors to lecture less and listen more.I want the curriculum to include empathy, not engine components.
Here in New Jersey, we have official programs but still unevenly distributed. Drivers' education classes are not offered in some schools. Private instruction is not in the budget for some teenagers. Others utilize parents who in all honesty have not parallel parked themselves in a decade. That gap in access is not safe. All teenagers are entitled to an equal opportunity to learn to drive safely—again, not just those with the resources to pay for additional help.
And sometimes it's just about confidence. Parking in between the cones may be little, but when you are 16 and doubting every aspect of yourself—your voice, your space, your skills—acquiring something tangible feels like shifting a mountain. Driving taught me patience. Taught me how to keep my cool when things are tough. Taught me how to adjust course mid-stream without losing it. Aren't those life skills too?
I know that I'm still in the process of learning. I don't know everything. But I do have the question: What can we do better?
Let's start by making driver's ed more inclusive, more accessible, and more story-driven. Let's make it acceptable to speak up in the vehicle, even if it makes us sound dorky doing so. Let's make every turn a sentence, every brake tap a promise. Let's make it acceptable to care.
And you? I'll just drive on and on. Carefully. Respectfully. Mindfully. I'll continue to say "call me when you arrive home" and mean it. I'll continue to respect others' safety in ways no one sees. I’ll keep dodging cones—not just because I’ve finally learned how, but because I now understand what they stand for.
Boundaries. Caution. Safety.
And maybe a few traumatized instructors, too.