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- My 19-year-old daughter has been taking her time getting her driver's license. She's figured out other ways to get around, but sometimes, I wish she could drive already.However, I'm glad she's not on the road before she's ready.
Getting a driver's license has long been a quintessential American milestone — right up there with prom, first jobs, and graduation. I remember itching to get mine, practicing in empty parking lots, and counting the days until I could drive myself to school. But things have changed. My oldest daughter, now 19, still doesn't have her license.
She has her permit. We're practicing. Slowly.
She's learned to be independent without driving
We live in Nashville, and when she was 16 and 17, I stopped driving her to school. She and her sisters took the city bus. At the time, it felt like the right decision — an exercise in independence, a way to avoid the madness of morning and afternoon car lines, and a reminder that we lived in a city with resources, even if they weren't always convenient. She navigated the schedule, the transfers, and the occasional delays with a surprising amount of grace.
Then she went to college in a different city three hours away, where she learned a new kind of self-sufficiency: public transit maps, rides from friends, and even the occasional Greyhound bus home. All of this worked well enough that driving never felt urgent to her. She moved through the world just fine without it.
But this summer, we're back to practicing again. At 19, she's old enough to take the road test without logging official hours. But she doesn't feel ready; she wants to feel more confident before she gives it a shot. And so we practice — slow drives through parking lots, left turns that still make her nervous, short and longer stretches on familiar roads, and stints on the interstate.
I have conflicting emotions about her waiting to get her license
As her mom, I've cycled through every emotion about her delayed driving timeline: frustration when I have to rearrange my day to get her somewhere, concern for her safety and independence, relief that she's not out there on the road before she's ready — and then, yep, more frustration.
Because the truth is, her driving would help all of us. She could drive her younger sister to camp, run to the store for the one ingredient I forgot, or take herself to meet friends without coordinating rides. But more than the logistics, I want her to feel the independence I felt when I first slid into the driver's seat alone — the freedom, the possibility, the ability to say yes to things without needing to ask for help.
At the same time, I've had to reckon with the fact that our experiences are different, and it turns out, these days, she's not an anomaly. According to federal census and highway data, only 25% of 16-year-olds in the US got their licenses in 2022, the year my daughter turned 16, compared to 51% in 1991, the year I got my license.
Some of this is due to cost, access, and changes in urban planning. Some of it is generational. Teens are now growing up in a world where connection doesn't always require movement. They can hang out over FaceTime. Order dinner via an app. Work from home. Driving just isn't as essential to their social lives as it was to mine.
And while our town does have a public transportation system, it's far from ideal — especially in the heat of summer. Walking or biking from her job in July isn't always practical, and I see how it limits her. That's why we keep practicing.
Learning to drive, it turns out, is more than just a rite of passage. It's a complex dance of timing, readiness, and motivation. My daughter will get there — on her own schedule. And I'm learning to trust that, too.
