FATHERS, according to poll results released in the United Kingdom earlier this month, are better at teaching their kids how to drive. Fifty-two per cent of 1,387 adults polled by AA Driving School said that dads gave better driving lessons, while only 24 per cent preferred mum to guide them.
Dads are quicker to lose their temper, say 39 per cent of respondents, but the perception was that mothers are more likely to panic.
Empirically speaking, the broad stereotypes contained in those results may be slightly true.
Recently, my younger brother passed his driving test, to the joy of my parents. My father promptly went with him for a spin in the family’s Mitsubishi, sitting proudly in the passenger seat. It was, as far as I could tell, an enjoyable trip for both.
A couple of days later, my mother sat in the back seat. Before the car had even left the housing estate, she had already issued a series of nervous instructions to our new driver.
At the end of a 10-minute ride, which included no worse than one Austin Powers-esque attempt at parking and a stomach- lurching U-turn, Mum shakily declared she didn’t dare to be chauffeured by her only son anymore.
It brought back memories of how, when I was a fresh driver 13 years ago, my mother would yelp worriedly and hang white- knuckled to door handles whenever I approached the speed limit on highways.
In contrast, Dad as co-driver was always able to steer me away from potential disaster with a well-placed cautionary remark.
Still, why should these AA Driving School gender attitudes mean anything at all in Singapore?
After all, drivers here acquire their road education from driving schools and take standardised theory and practical tests, rather than through clocking a requisite number of learner hours with one’s parents, like in other countries.
At best, the poll, with its not-terribly-huge sample size, is a subconscious reflection of long-held prejudice against women drivers.
Then again, mothers being prone to worry about their offspring may indeed be more jumpy about their road safety. Still, I worry about what driving skills I will pass on to my son. At the age of three, I can see he is already observing and picking up certain motoring habits of mine.
My potty mouth, for instance – as I unthinkingly spout rude words at careless drivers once disasters are averted – has led Julian to learn the “s”-word.
Thus, these days, when a car careens into our path, Julian yells, “Stupid car!”. At other times, he clucks his tongue exasperatedly and shouts: “Aiyoh, mister!”, with perfect auntie-like intonation at kamikaze cyclists and pedestrians.
It’s like having a pint-sized curse-o-meter in the back seat. I’m seriously starting to think that if I don’t gag myself now, I may have to contend with riding with my hands over my ears when Julian drives in future.
What of his other motoring skills? Well, that remains to be seen but I’d like to think I’m not as bad an influence as my gender might suggest.
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This article was first published in My Paper.
