I PICKED THE FIRST ROAD CAREFULLY. I wanted no stoplights, no tailgaters, nobody pulling out in front of us. Greens Bottom Road in St. Charles checked all of those boxes. It runs perfectly straight—no houses to hit or ditches to run into—with margin for error on the left and right.
It was perfect for my 16-year-old daughter as she drove on an actual street for the first time. She eased our car out onto the road, pushed on the gas, and just like that, she graduated from parking lots to the open road.
At that point I would not and could not take my eyes off the road, but if I could have, I would have seen farmland to my right receding to the Missouri River. To my left, a steep embankment rose until the trees scratched the clouds. I saw none of that; instead, I concentrated intently on the road … and wore out my right leg pushing an imaginary brake.
This continued for weeks. “I can see the stoplight; you don’t need to tell me what color it is,” she told me.
Eventually, I realized she was doing fine, and I stopped trying to control the car with my mind and just watched the world as we went by it. That time gave me a new appreciation for Missouri’s beauty.
I gaped as we sliced through forests, fields, and neighborhoods. I delighted in the details (curved rows in cornfields, rocks peeking out of rivers, the arc of an eagle’s flight) that I never notice when I’m driving.
The state requires teens to drive a total of 40 hours before getting their license. We filled that time with conversations big and small, about safety and speed, grades and gravel, boys and brakes.
Even when we drove in silence, which was often, the daddy-daughter time was great because we didn’t fill that silence with phones or other distractions.
We focused instead on our shared road and where it was taking us. Sometimes that road was purely functional—she took us to her school, her shift at Chick-fil-A, or our church. Sometimes, that road engulfed us in memories that will last a lifetime.
She drove us across the state so she could attend the Taylor Swift concert in Kansas City. On the way, she visited a makeup store to buy glue-on fingernails to complete her Eras tour outfit (if you know, you know). She asked my opinion on which to buy, and I mumbled an answer as I tried not to faint dead away.
As she drove on I-70, I DJ’d her requests for Swift’s greatest hits, deep cuts, and everything in between. In my #GirlDadLife, that day ranks near the top.
Swift, school, work, church— those trips had a purpose; however, I enjoyed the trips that didn’t even more. I try not to live in a constant rush as the world demands of us. So, some days we drove just to log hours.
I learned, as a captive to my daughter’s driving, that I have room to improve. Who has time to drive to nowhere and back? Much to my surprise, I do, and I highly recommend it.
With nowhere to go and no time to be there, she piloted us on the most scenic routes we could find. We hurtled past subdivisions and soccer fields, farms and fast-food joints, rivers and rec-plexes. We wound up in Troy, Washington, Winfield, and more. If there happened to be an ice cream shop along the way, all the better.
Too soon, she passed her driving test, and I mourned what I lost by her not needing me anymore. Thankfully, she has a younger sister.
This article was originally published in the June 2025 issue of Missouri Life.
