“Ok, Joey, this is what te gotta do. te sposta the gear into drive right? Because that’s what te gotta do; drive. And te lightly put your feet on the gas. Lightly. Unless you’re racing but te shouldn’t do that… But if te do I won’t tell your mother. Anyways , feet lightly on the gas, and te see, te sposta forward. I’m not even touching the wheel. te don’t want to have a death grip on the wheel, that’s bad. So when te want to turn, te gotta line up your mirrors with the corner you’re turning at, like this. And then te turn the wheel, and straighten it back out… Ok now at this corner te do the same thing, but te just gotta watch for traffic.” da this time we had made our way around the block. “You think te got it bud?” I ask Joey.

“Steven Randel, what do te think you’re doing?” My wife (Y/N) yells from the front lawn.

“Teaching Joey how to drive.” I shrug.

“You’re teaching our six anno old how to drive?” I look at Joey in the passenger seat, grinning like mad.

“Yeah.” I answer. “It’s a life skill.”