Skills for Living
There were just five minutes before I had to leave the house for my next driving lesson when my eldest son, Joe, rang to say he’d written his van off and he and his passenger, Ryan, were waiting for Simon, his boss of the day, to come and collect them. He was shouting at me down the phone, about how they’d been on their way to another job, having finished the previous one promptly, and were looking forward to an early finish, when the van wouldn’t stop at a give way line because as soon as he hit the brakes, they locked, so with no ABS, he careered in a straight line into the wood on the other side of the road. At some point I asked if they were both okay, and reassured of this and the fact that no one else was involved, allowed my irritation to increase as the assumptions and recriminations tumbled into my head: probably going too fast; music on too loudly; didn’t have your eyes on the road; you can’t have been drinking, can you, not in the middle of the day; how can you miss a give way line or a forest directly ahead of you? All this and more I want to shove down the ear holes of my wayward and risk taking 19 year old son but I know that would be unhelpful to him so I go off to my driving lesson.
The next morning Joe and I drive over to the van, which has been left in the woods with the permission of the landowner. He paces alongside the tyre marks marvelling that they run the length of the five hazard road markings and questions how come it took him so long to stop. I can tell he is still shocked and suggest that this is what he needs to mull over. He must keep reflecting on this crash and work out what he could have done differently to prevent it from happening. This has to be an important lesson for him; a lesson that would be lost if I preached it; he has to learn it for himself.
I gather some more details and realise that he is annoyed with himself. He knows they were extremely lucky because there was no one coming on the major road and the straight line the van took, just scraped a tree rather than going into it. Ryan’s passenger window had been open and the branches from the tree had scratched him. As the van stopped and Joe turned to look at his mate, he had been appalled to see blood all over his arms, neck and face. I love all these nasty details because I am thinking, Good, I hope you learn from this, and, Please, please don’t ever have to do this again before learning to take responsibility.
A couple of days later, Joe and Ryan are round at mine and we are chatting about the crash. Joe’s a tree surgeon and says, ‘You know, I would never even touch a tree without first doing a risk assessment of it, let alone throw a rope round it and start climbing. I suppose that’s what I should be doing in driving?’ Ryan smirks and says, ‘You’re such a legend Joe but what has driving got to do with tree surgery?’ And I walk away thinking, which comes first, being a good mum or being a good driving instructor?
I’m not saying I am a good mum or good driving instructor but I do know when my coaching techniques are paying off and this was one of those sublime moments when it all hangs so beautifully together and I just knew that my son had learned from his near miss.
Joe knows that how he drives is a microcosmic reflection of how he handles the rest of his life. He knows this because he is reasonably self aware, recognising the need to evaluate his strengths and weaknesses. He’s not great at it, as most of us are not, however, he did quickly appreciate that his initial response to his crash (van wouldn’t stop, no ABS, poor road signs) was all about blaming the vehicle and the road. It was only on reflection that he was able to consider the part he had played. The day was really warm and they were both in good moods. They were driving at a speed that Joe judged would hold the road well. He wasn’t looking forward – he was appreciating the moment, both mentally and physically. Joe knows he is easily distracted. He doesn’t concentrate very well and he rarely considers consequences. Comparing tree surgery with driving means that Joe has seen the link between the two. Both occupations require responsibility for a potentially lethal piece of machinery, which shouldn’t be handled without a careful risk assessment.
When we, as driving instructors, consciously adopt a coaching, or client-centred, approach to learning, we use every opportunity presented on a driving lesson, to encourage the pupil to learn something about themselves. Specifically, they benefit from learning who they are, and how the way they think and the way they handle the vehicle are completely intertwined. My son, Joe, knew how to stop at a give way line safely. He’s done that loads of times. He also knew how to drive at 50mph safely. He’s driven a lot faster than that. He didn’t know how his euphoria at being able to have an early finish and get the most from the unusual summer’s day might not only affect his ability to spot the give way sign and wood directly ahead of him, but also his judgement of his speed and braking requirements.
The task of raising this kind of self awareness is lengthy and doesn’t happen overnight. Joe knows how to self-evaluate because I have been coaching him for a number of years – it’s how I choose to bring up my children. Coaching in driver training is just a natural and obvious progression.
There were just five minutes before I had to leave the house for my next driving lesson when my eldest son, Joe, rang to say he’d written his van off and he and his passenger, Ryan, were waiting for Simon, his boss of the day, to come and collect them. He was shouting at me down the phone, about how they’d been on their way to another job, having finished the previous one promptly, and were looking forward to an early finish, when the van wouldn’t stop at a give way line because as soon as he hit the brakes, they locked, so with no ABS, he careered in a straight line into the wood on the other side of the road. At some point I asked if they were both okay, and reassured of this and the fact that no one else was involved, allowed my irritation to increase as the assumptions and recriminations tumbled into my head: probably going too fast; music on too loudly; didn’t have your eyes on the road; you can’t have been drinking, can you, not in the middle of the day; how can you miss a give way line or a forest directly ahead of you? All this and more I want to shove down the ear holes of my wayward and risk taking 19 year old son but I know that would be unhelpful to him so I go off to my driving lesson.
The next morning Joe and I drive over to the van, which has been left in the woods with the permission of the landowner. He paces alongside the tyre marks marvelling that they run the length of the five hazard road markings and questions how come it took him so long to stop. I can tell he is still shocked and suggest that this is what he needs to mull over. He must keep reflecting on this crash and work out what he could have done differently to prevent it from happening. This has to be an important lesson for him; a lesson that would be lost if I preached it; he has to learn it for himself.
I gather some more details and realise that he is annoyed with himself. He knows they were extremely lucky because there was no one coming on the major road and the straight line the van took, just scraped a tree rather than going into it. Ryan’s passenger window had been open and the branches from the tree had scratched him. As the van stopped and Joe turned to look at his mate, he had been appalled to see blood all over his arms, neck and face. I love all these nasty details because I am thinking, Good, I hope you learn from this, and, Please, please don’t ever have to do this again before learning to take responsibility.
A couple of days later, Joe and Ryan are round at mine and we are chatting about the crash. Joe’s a tree surgeon and says, ‘You know, I would never even touch a tree without first doing a risk assessment of it, let alone throw a rope round it and start climbing. I suppose that’s what I should be doing in driving?’ Ryan smirks and says, ‘You’re such a legend Joe but what has driving got to do with tree surgery?’ And I walk away thinking, which comes first, being a good mum or being a good driving instructor?
I’m not saying I am a good mum or good driving instructor but I do know when my coaching techniques are paying off and this was one of those sublime moments when it all hangs so beautifully together and I just knew that my son had learned from his near miss.
Joe knows that how he drives is a microcosmic reflection of how he handles the rest of his life. He knows this because he is reasonably self aware, recognising the need to evaluate his strengths and weaknesses. He’s not great at it, as most of us are not, however, he did quickly appreciate that his initial response to his crash (van wouldn’t stop, no ABS, poor road signs) was all about blaming the vehicle and the road. It was only on reflection that he was able to consider the part he had played. The day was really warm and they were both in good moods. They were driving at a speed that Joe judged would hold the road well. He wasn’t looking forward – he was appreciating the moment, both mentally and physically. Joe knows he is easily distracted. He doesn’t concentrate very well and he rarely considers consequences. Comparing tree surgery with driving means that Joe has seen the link between the two. Both occupations require responsibility for a potentially lethal piece of machinery, which shouldn’t be handled without a careful risk assessment.
When we, as driving instructors, consciously adopt a coaching, or client-centred, approach to learning, we use every opportunity presented on a driving lesson, to encourage the pupil to learn something about themselves. Specifically, they benefit from learning who they are, and how the way they think and the way they handle the vehicle are completely intertwined. My son, Joe, knew how to stop at a give way line safely. He’s done that loads of times. He also knew how to drive at 50mph safely. He’s driven a lot faster than that. He didn’t know how his euphoria at being able to have an early finish and get the most from the unusual summer’s day might not only affect his ability to spot the give way sign and wood directly ahead of him, but also his judgement of his speed and braking requirements.
The task of raising this kind of self awareness is lengthy and doesn’t happen overnight. Joe knows how to self-evaluate because I have been coaching him for a number of years – it’s how I choose to bring up my children. Coaching in driver training is just a natural and obvious progression.
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