There are not many times in a guy's life when he is able to turn the tables on his family by following their instructions. While driving everyone to church, I had an opportunity. When the car was closing in on an intersection, the light changed, and my dad immediately shouted "Stop."

One of my parents' few rules is: if they say stop, I stop - without question or hesitation. So I slammed on the brakes, and every unstationary object flew forward. I heard my three brothers groan in the back, and my mother give a short, nervous laugh. After my father recovered, he looked at me with bulging eyes and said with a shaky voice, "Nice work, Jas."

Learning to drive has been more different than I expected. I had really looked forward to getting my permit six months ago; I had imagined myself cruising down Route 66 in my babe magnet minivan. The day I started to drive, the reality of the situation hit me: for the next five months my paranoid parents would be in the car with me wherever I went.

Since I began driving, I have learned some amazing things about my parents. Whenever I get behind the wheel a change immediately occurs. My calm, reasonable parents disappear, leaving nervous wrecks. They try to hide their feelings, but whenever they give advice, it is either spoken through clenched teeth or screamed.

I am beginning to think that my parents associate my learning to drive with our religion. Not only do they lift pleading eyes toward heaven as I start the engine, the drive to church is the only time that they relinquish the keys without argument. They probably figure that God will protect us since we are going to church to worship him (and they always seem thankful as they stagger out of the car when we arrive).

No one has been hurt, car damages are nothing that a couple grand could not fix, and my parents have not tried to take control of the car yet. All things considered, I would say I am doing pretty well. However, my parents could use a psychologist. c