Here's a thing I noticed today about what having a teen-aged daughter has done to me: I watch all drivers very carefully now. My eldest is 16 and about half-way through the first stage of Delaware graduated driver's license. That means she can only drive with her mother or I in the passenger seat. We watch the road; we watch her speed; we gasp and cringe and clutch at the dashboard. The usual parenting stuff.
This morning, I dropped my car off for its regular check-up, fluid fill-up and once-over by folks who know what the heck is supposed to happen in there. I took advantage of the dealership's offer of a ride to the office and rode into town with a gent who I know drives for a living and who has driven me quite safely numerous times before.
And yet, I found myself in the passenger seat acting just as I do when riding with my daughter. I craned my neck around to check oncoming traffic; I watched ahead for brake-lights; and I snuck glances at the speedometer.
You know, the usual parenting stuff.