We have two cars in our family despite having three drivers. We’ve been wanting to get a third car for a while now, however life is already too expensive and Florida car insurance is ridiculous. Like, let’s-sell-one-of-our-cute-kids-to-pay-for-it expensive. Especially when you have a teenager on your plan. So, to not be homeless, we’ve been holding off on buying another vehicle and making two cars work with our busy schedules.
Our primary family car is a minivan, and our other car is a Tesla. Our 16-year-old Gianna learned how to drive on the Tesla so it’s her preferred vehicle. And what teenager wouldn’t rather drive to school in a Tesla vs a mom van, right? It’s almost like my kids are embarrassed by the van because they compare it to the Tesla. Kids have no idea about embarrassing. Should have seen what I was driven to school in. Plus, most 16-year-olds don’t get to drive a Tesla. My first car was a 1980-something Pontiac Sunbird that I bought cash from my manager at Arby’s 
. My kids don’t know want like me or Vince did. And I’m grateful for that fact. I wanted my kids to have a way better life than me. So, even though it seems bougie, it makes sense to have Gianna drive the Tesla and not buy another car at the moment.
The point of me saying all this is to give context to the following story.
One day last week, I let Gianna know at the last minute that she needed to take the minivan to school. I was driving more than she would be that day and didn’t want to waste gas. I arrived home just as she was leaving, and we waved in passing.
Moments later, she called me in a panic.
The van needed gas. Apparently, the light came on and she was having an anxiety attack about “breaking down on the side of the road.” Legitimately she texted me (from red lights) and called me twice in fear that she wouldn’t have enough gas to get to school. Through her crying and bitching about the “stupid van”, I asked her to check how much gas mileage she had left. Of course, she wasn’t sure how to and I didn’t know the right buttons off by heart to tell her to push without seeing the console. Eventually, from a red light, she sent me a picture of the gas gauge.
Take a look at this folks. She knows nothing. I’ve been driving butt-puckered past red before and she’s freaking out with three blue bars left.
I think having driven the Tesla for so long, she just doesn’t know how to gauge a gas tank. The school is legitimately 8 miles away. 8 miles! And then, there’s a gas station less than 2 miles from her school! This child was breaking down in fear of breaking down with less than10 miles to go with a gas range of pfft…. I dunno, maybe 40 miles?
When I saw the picture of the gas gauge she sent, I texted back and told her she was fine. I even lol’ed to try and make her realize she was overreacting. She had more than enough to make it. Apparently, the lol didn’t work because moments later she called again, still freaking out. Exhausted with her tantrum, I passed the phone to Vince. He talked to her, told her basically the same shit I did, but for some reason, she listened to him and not me.
I’m the one they go to with almost EVERY question, complaint, or comment they ever have. I’m the “boss.” But there are occasions, like this, where I’m not enough I guess. Sometimes girls need their dad to tell them everything is going to be OK. There are times for mom and times for dad. I’m grateful my girls have both of us to be there for them. And I’m grateful for this experience. Because while my child is spoiled, at least now she knows the heart-attack inducing feeling of not knowing which is greater: the gas you have left in your tank or the distance you have to travel. May she someday also know the cold sweat stomach dropping feeling of truly riding on E. It’s one of the rites of passages, after all.