He's driving...I need a brown paper sack.

Brown Paper Sack moments:

Tiger's Eye put the car in drive.

He drove in traffic. He ran over every theoretically parked car because he doesn't like driving close to the yellow line. ManCub also chants our new mantra: "Scoot over. Middle. Get in the middle."

He drove 45 miles an hour. Even in the middle of the road, it felt like we were at Bonneville Speedway.

Him: "Which lane do we take?"

Me: "You need to get in the right-sided left-hand lane."

Him: "So, right, right?"

Me: "No, there are four lanes. Two are for turning left. You want to get into the right-sided left-turn..."

Him: "Ha ha ha. Gotcha."

He parked in a virtually empty lot. I took a breather, wondered how much some Johnny Walker costs at the supermarket next door, realized I can't drive impaired while he's driving, and settled for Mountain Dew.

He unparked.

We entered a busier-than-heck Wal-Mart parking lot.

Him: "Where do I park?"

Me: "Pick a spot, but take it slow."

Him: "I found it!"

He pulls into the slot straight across from where the lane ends, i.e., he pulls straight in.

Him: "Easy."

Me: "Yeah, but getting out's going to be a real...bear."

And so it was. But, with patience, and waiting for half the parking lot to leave, we had success.

He drove to Gasmart. I told him to park wherever in the virtually empty lot, where all he has to do is like he did at Wal-Mart, pull straight in.

"Take this one," I said. "Okay, I guess take both."

He tried to park in the carport. I kicked him out of the driver's spot when the car sat half parallel yet half perpendicular and 2" away from the fence.

Refills of Ativan? $1. Having Ativan to help forget you're a control freak with a son who's growing up and trying to be free? Priceless.