Last week I picked up a Missouri Driver's Guide so The Pony can study for his written license test. Then he can get his driving permit, and practice for six months before taking his driving test.
Things sure have changed from my day, when a kid went to take the written test on his 16th birthday, followed immediately by the driving test if he passed. Kids were expected to learn on their own, in farm fields and on back roads, when their grandma let them drive her white Galaxy 500 at age 14 to take their younger cousins to town for a bag of candy that could be bought with a dollar. None of this regulated legal rigamarole.
The Pony is dragging his hooves. He does not want to get his license. He could probably walk in there right now and pass the written test, just based on common sense. He won't be one of those poor fellows itching to drive, who must take that test six, seven, eight times before they can get a permit.
I'm going to have to give him a deadline, or he will stretch it out. The other day, I mentioned, on one of our many travels, "I see that the Driver's Guide is still where I left it. On my red school bag on the kitchen counter."
"I know where it is."
"Just thought you might want to study."
"You need to. Really."
Yesterday, I told him to bring me a stack of paperwork from the counter that needed sorting. He made sure to let me know he moved the Driver's Guide from the kitchen counter to his stack of books on a living room table.
I suppose it's a start.