800 miles away, a mom can still back-seat drive

Appeared Jan. 15, 2007

“If one more person calls to tell me that it’s snowing in Denver, I’m going to drive off this bridge.”
Those were the first words out of the mouth of my older son when I called him this week as he drove from Orlando – where he had left a job – to Denver – where he has taken a new one.
He was in his Jeep somewhere between Nashville and Kansas City.
In an ice storm.
Well, you can bet I wasn’t calling to tell him about snow in Denver.
I was calling to make sure he was still alive.
Yes, I was living yet another chapter you’ll never find in any parenting book: “What to do when your child is driving across the country by himself — in an ice storm.”
I had gotten up early that morning (before my son put the kibosh on phone-delivered weather reports) to chart his course on The Weather Channel.
He was about to embark on Day 2 of his three-day journey to Denver. This leg? Nashville to Kansas City.
I turned on the little TV in the kitchen and stood there staring at the screen for a couple minutes, scrutinizing the weather lady’s hair (it was gelled into oblivion), her outfit (where do people even buy red sweater vests anymore?) and the silk scarf tied around her neck (what’s that all about?).
And then she started saying some words that made me forget about the awful plaid shirt she was wearing – words like “Kansas” and “slow-moving storm” and “bad road conditions.”
And “ice.”
I took a few steps closer to the TV and watched as she swiveled and pointed to an amoeba-shaped splotch of color that depicted the ice storm. The amoeba was at an angle, with its tail somewhere in Texas and its head somewhere in Illinois or Indiana.
And cutting right through the mid-section of this splotch amoeba ice storm was the path my son would take that day.
In his Jeep.
By himself.
I dialed his cell phone.
“Hello, Mother.”
“Didyouseetheforecast?”
“I just got up.”
“You probably better turn on the TV. They keep talking about ice storms …”
“I’ll check it out – but it’ll be OK. I’ll be fine,” he told me.
“Did you buy new tires?”
“My tires are fine. Really.”
And that’s how the conversation continued for a couple minutes: A burst of mom panic followed by a son’s calm reassurance. And then we hung up.
Well, not much left for me to do. I walked over and turned off the TV, cutting off the weather woman in mid-sentence.
And then I left for the office.
I got busy and aside from the occasional panic that washed over me, I forgot about my son on an icy highway in the middle of nowhere.
My phone rang late that afternoon.
“It’s bad. It’s real bad. There are cars all over the place and I’m going about 30 miles an hour,” he told me.
But the funny thing was, I was less worried about him as he told me that than I was when he was confident and reassuring.
Now, what’s with that?
I guess I knew he had things under control – or perhaps I just finally realized there was absolutely nothing I could do about it.
When he finally arrived at that day’s stopping point – a friend’s house in Kansas City – he called to tell me he had made it.
“Wow. I’m so glad you got there safely. Now what about tomorrow? Be careful.
“You know … it’s snowing in Denver.”

Patti Ewald, managing editor of The Chronicle, can be reached at 329-7142. If her line’s busy, she’s likely talking to her son who is calling from his new house in Denver.