Back-Seat Mothering

(I’ve been warned that my mother is an extremely anxious backseat driver, especially with her kids. I barely survive a five minute drive with her into town. My ears are ringing from all the screaming she does. We are now driving home.)

Mom: “Slow. Slow! SLOW DOWN! YOU’RE GOING TOO FAST—”

Me: “Mom, you have got to calm down. I’m doing five under the speed limit.”

Mom: “Then go SLOWER. God, teenagers and their need for speed. STOP!”

Me: *startled because she screamed, I hit the brakes* “What?!”

Mom: *angry* “WHY WERE YOU GOING SO FAST? YOU DIDN’T STOP IN TIME! WHAT IF THAT HAD BEEN A CHILD?”

Me: “What if what had been a child? There wasn’t anything there!” *I start driving again*

Mom: “IT DOESN’T MATTER! YOU’RE RECKLESS AND—” *she gasps and YANKS THE WHEEL*

(I slam on the brakes, put the car into park, and undo her seatbelt.)

Me: “Get out.”

Mom: “What?”

Me: “Get. Out. I’m serious. Get out of my car.”

Mom: “There was a curve in the road. You can’t kick me out–”

Me: “The only dangerous thing that’s been happening with this car is the fact that you keep SCREAMING at me, and then you yanked the wheel while the car was in motion! Get out.”

Mom: “I will not!”

Me: *the loudest I’ve ever been in my life* “GET. OUT. NOW!”

(She got out and I drove home without her, so furious I was shaking. I made Dad watch the dash-cam footage before she got home and he informed me I was not in any trouble. Later, I could hear him from my room, scolding her. My brothers both high-fived me for making her walk home.)