Should we worry about our kids becoming car enthusiasts?

He stands on the precipice. A lifetime of thrills and (hopefully minor) spills ahead, and yet he barely knows it. My son is 16 and a year from now should be a fully fl edged driver. True freedom awaits. Previously impossible dreams become simply choices made in the moment. Will he drive to the south of France on a whim? I doubt it. But he could.

A bit like having a car that does 180mph, the real power is knowing the potential rather than fully exploiting it at all times. I’m excited for him. Is he excited? It’s hard to tell, to be honest. Does he want to drive? ‘Yeah.’ Is he thrilled at the prospect? ‘I dunno. I suppose.’ Although this apathy is completely alien to my own experience as 17 approached, I think I understand it. 

Old, crappy, decomposing cars were still a part of the landscape back then. My older brothers had Escort Mk2s in various shades of primer and rotting Capris. Every weekend involved a trip to the scrap dealer (lovingly referred to as ‘Toothbrush’ as his teeth were in a similar state to many of the cars in his charge) for spare parts. We once sold him a freshly crashed Toyota Starlet for £5. And even then he didn’t want it.

Although insurance was already a bit of a nightmare, there were cheap, almost-free cars pretty much everywhere you looked. Adventure always seemed so close, too. There was no such thing as Cars and Coffee, no mass-organised events like those at Bicester Heritage, and I was never into the whole Max Power cruise thing. So, it was just bombing around country lanes in small groups, finding empty industrial estates when it snowed or just trying to skid around the gravelly car park for a nearby old steam railway that never seemed to be running. 

> Best small cars – new and used stars for basic affordable fun motoring

Handily, said car park was a large, oval-shaped area with two islands of trees and foliage at either end. For obvious reasons it became known as the ‘Figure of 8’. It’s still there today, but one end has been blocked off and at the entrance gates there are, of course, cameras monitoring the flow of traffic. Surveillance really is everywhere for new drivers, isn’t it? 

Every car park abandoned at the weekend as offices or warehouses closed used to be a relatively safe playground. Now, they’re mostly locked up and/or covered by the unblinking stare of CCTV. And even if they weren’t, the chances are my son will be required to have a ‘black box’ monitoring his every move just to make the insurance affordable. 

The old sport of skidding around away from the general public until the noise of a distant siren (which would never have anything to do with our motoring misdemeanours) spooked everyone is long gone. I should be happy. And a big part of me is reassured by all this stuff. I love my kids and I want them to be safe and responsible.

The thought of them careering around as a passenger just as one of their friends runs out of talent is terrifying. I remember several trips on a Sunday morning to rescue cars from ditches or fields. I don’t want to repeat those journeys today. 

And yet... I do want my son to feel the pure freedom of having access to a car. I want him to equate driving with fun. To understand the thrill of being fully immersed in the simple act of controlling a vehicle. Albeit one with airbags and crumple zones and ABS. It’s a fine line between encouraging responsibility and ripping youth away from the young and I have no idea how to navigate it. However, I do wish that it was my issue to grasp and try to solve, rather than one completely handed over to enforcing technology. 

Of course, all is not lost. There are trackdays, driving courses, karting and a host of other ways to ensure my kids see cars as more than a means of transport and driving as more than a means to an end. Smarter, safer ways than skidding around a dark car park or heading up to the M45 to max out whatever piece of crap happened to be lying around that week. 

Plus, the freedom I associate with driving and the possibilities it offers are independent of car control and speed and all that other wonderful, terrible stuff. So, he doesn’t really know it and the world tries ever harder to take it away, but my son truly does stand on the edge of something special. I’m excited to see where it takes him. 

Will he ever wait on the far side of a humpback bridge in the dead of night, heart pounding, cold breath curling into the darkness, with the sound of a friend’s wrung-out CVH Ford engine and dim yellow headlights hammering towards him? Maybe not. Is he missing out on the sight of the impending spectacular jump and the horrible impact of a landing marked by the sound of smashing glass, screeching metal and a shower of sparks and shrapnel? Absolutely. 

The Escort survived to fight another day. Just. My love of cars took another spike towards the stratosphere. Hopefully he’ll find a more sensible way to truly understand the Thrill of Driving.

This piece first featured in evo 319