Her fingers clenched tight as springs around the handle. She sat back molded to the seat, her foot anchored to the floor, every muscle riveted in place but her darting eyes. Suddenly, she snapped from her trance.

"STOP!" she shrieked, as I slammed on the accelerator.

"Stop when I tell you to!" I thought for a second, then pressed on the brake pedal as my face reddened. We stopped in the middle of the intersection.

"Mom! I have the right of way, and there isn’t even anyone coming."

"Well, just to be safe..."

I growled silently. "Fine - now can I go?"

My mother nodded and settled back into her watchman’s position. I rolled my eyes and tapped on the gas. I felt Mom gaze over my hands gripping the wheel as the car rolled to the next intersection.

"Stop and look both ways... now, hand over hand --"

"You don’t have to talk me through everything."

"Lauren, this is only your first time on the roads! How are you going to know how to drive if I don’t teach you?"

Flipping on my blinker for the next turn, I asserted, "See? I know some things already."

"Slow down!" she protested.

This went on for months -- Mom directed me through every turn, while I, the overconfident sixteen-year-old, tried to prove I knew what I was doing.

I guess she’s no different than anyone else’s mother. If she had her way, she might have kept me forever a little girl, a doll-child who would not cross the street without holding her hand tight. But both of us knew that some day it will just be me and the world.

When I was sixteen, I thought that day finally arrived when I got my license. But when I came home with that coveted little card, Mom and Dad wouldn’t let me borrow the keys. First they had to test my driving to meet some undefined standard.

In the months before they let me drive alone, driving with my parents was frustrating -- until one afternoon last summer. Mom and I were navigating through tight downtown traffic. Checking our directions, Mom noticed, "We’re supposed to take the next right."

The flow of cars was steady. While Mom glanced left and right, I looked over my shoulder and saw a gap left by a cautious moving van. I quickly signaled and pulled over to the right lane just in time to make the turn.

"You’re getting better at this," Mom sighed.

It was not long after that day that my parents let me take the car on my own. Having to wait so long for that taste of freedom made it even sweeter. In a small way, this conflict over full drivership was over my independence. I was ready to prove that I could succeed with that responsibility on my own, but my parents kept the chance to from me. Maybe I did need to sharpen my driving, but I didn’t want to admit it.

Driving is little more than a reflex for me now, but I appreciate the power to control where I’m headed. Mom and Dad still worry about me, but the days when their protectiveness kept me young are fading. Their little doll has come to life.