Kendall’s mother decided one day that, since she’d soon be an empty-nester, she’d better learn how to drive. So she talked Kendall, her last son at home, into giving her some lessons.
It intrigued Kendall that Mom wanted to learn to drive in her “old age” – after all she was almost 50 and to a young man of eighteen that was far over the hill. Though dubious, he agreed and let her take the wheel while he instructed.
The lesson did not go smoothly. Mom was extremely nervous in traffic; she kept forgetting the simplest rules; parallel parking was a lost cause; she didn’t know which streets were one-ways. He was soon exasperated. It was clear he’d be in for torture if she persisted.
So after they got home he told his mom he just didn’t have the patience for this project. Anyway, she’d never become a good driver so why not just accept it. If she persisted she’d likely have an accident and he’d be a nervous wreck.
His father was home by that time and listened quietly for awhile, then said, “Too bad you don’t remember the marvelous patience your mother had with you when you were learning to feed yourself. Or how many “accidents” she had to clean up when you were being potty-trained.”
His point was taken. Kendall stared at his shoes for a few minutes, then said, “Sorry, Mom. Do you want to go out for another lesson tomorrow?”