This is about a rite of passage (r-i-t-e) which many young people in their mid-teens consider a right of passage (r-i-g-h-t)—and that is, driving a car. I know when I was that age, getting your driver's license was right up there with being born itself. My 16 th birthday was on a Sunday, and I had to wait a whole day before the drivers' license office would open up again on Monday! Think of it—I had to waste a whole day of my legally driveable life because of some bureaucratic, silly rule.
Although it wasn't lawful, I had been driving my father around on country roads for a couple of years, so I didn't bother with a provisional license. It wasn't called that then, it was called a "learner's permit," but it amounted to the same thing. I just whizzed through the written test, did a short road test flawlessly, and, bingo, I was turned loose on the unsuspecting public at the tender age of sixteen. (In South Carolina , at the time, kids could get drivers' licenses at fourteen!)