RECENTLY, my husband D got his driving licence and it has been a bittersweet time for both of us.
It certainly became a lot easier to run errands, and my dad generously lent us his car pretty much whenever we needed it.
He even took the time to familiarise D – who’s 11 years my junior and with whom I have a son, nine-months-old Baby K – with the car, coaching him in road confidence.
It was a nice little opportunity for them to bond, with me looking on proudly at how well things were going.
However, it was not long before what we feared most came to pass. Firstly, the car suffered a huge scratch on its front bumper when D misjudged the distance between a carpark pillar and the vehicle. Then, D accidentally drove onto a pavement while executing a sharp turn.
Finally (and most regrettably), he crashed into the door of an oncoming van while trying to manoeuvre between a lorry and a bus.
When phone calls to me begin with “Darling, I’m afraid I have some bad news...”, my heart would sink.
While I’d always be thankful that D wasn’t hurt, mounting home-renovation bills and monthly expenses made me worried and disheartened at the prospect of paying for the scratches on my dad’s car – not to mention a stranger’s vehicle repairs as well.
It would have been very easy for me to focus on my disappointment and anger, to scrutinise the accidents and look for evidence to prove whether or not D was at fault. In short, I could have chosen to get all emotional about this.
But perhaps due to the Zen sort of books and films I’d been reading and watching, I took the path less travelled and chose not to react on impulse. It did not come easily or naturally, I must admit. But by deciding not to bite off D’s head over his driving misadventures, I actually ended up feeling a lot better.
More importantly, it made it easier for me to handle things. I would call different mechanics, and receive advice from helpful friends.
What I didn’t do was waste an ounce of energy berating D for being what he could not help but be: An inexperienced 20-year-old driver who has lessons
to learn – sometimes the hard way.
Even my typically over-protective and hot-tempered dad reacted with calm grace when he received the various pieces of bad news from D. His only concern was that no one he loved was injured. Everything else, he said, could be dealt with. And he’s right.
What’s inspiring, too, is D’s calm demeanour in the face of such accidents – even though he must have felt terrible knowing that he was at fault.
He has always been the one to say that worrying does not make something better, and I am beginning to appreciate the value of acting rather than merely reacting when something happens. I may let out sighs of discontentment, and huff and puff to get anger and frustration out of my system. But, in the end, I know that life is about learning. And making mistakes is a part of the learning process.
And, for me, loving someone despite his mistakes is perhaps the best and most humbling lesson to learn.
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