My husband took the driver’s seat for the first four decades of our marriage. He drove and I took the co-pilot position. I wouldn’t say my strengths included navigation. My attempts to read a map or follow a friend’s directions failed to satisfy my spouse. Let’s just say that navigators should not be direction-challenged. My only specialty in this area was getting us lost. Even with GPS we found ourselves taking the long way around.
Besides this co-pilot duty, I felt compelled to give him insightful suggestions on his driving skills. Again, this was not helpful nor desired on his part. Despite my possession of a “backseat driver’s license,” he did not appreciate my comments.
Little did I anticipate this arrangement would change and as a senior citizen, he would choose me to become his chauffeur. You guessed it, the duties of a co-pilot also switched, including the less than helpful observations on my driving skills.
He would say, “You should have turned back there. Didn’t you see it? Now we’ll have to turn around.”
“Yes Dear,” I sighed.
“Where are you going? You need to go back.”
My hubby never fit the category of a laid-back individual, so I would jump in fright when he yelled, “Look out. . . curb!”
Hitting the curb, in my humble opinion, would be preferable to the jerking of the wheel reaction his voice had produced. My cautious hesitations might result in a fender bender, whereas his more aggressive style could require replacing the car.
I admit that he did save us from a wreck on occasion when my mind wandered to the point that I forgot ‘red’ means ‘stop.’ Let’s face it, neither of us was a spring chicken and the mileage we’d seen eventually reduces defensive driving.
The good habits I’d acquired included no texting or phone calls while driving plus a fairly diligent following of the speed limits. These were outweighed by his opinion of my bad habits.
He’d say “Dianna, you follow too closely. You make me nervous!”
To which I responded “Well, the reason I’m driving close is because he’s just not driving fast enough.” I don’t think he bought that argument (nor would a policeman.)
All those years of backseat driving caught up with me. He had to put up with it for 40-plus years. As it turns out, I didn’t have an equal amount of payback. My favorite days while on excursions were when he chose to call someone and became totally absorbed in the conversation. While he was occupied, I could feel free to drive unsupervised. After all, driving advice was not required.