Why I became a driving instructor: teaching my sons to drive

One of the reasons I became a driving instructor is that I genuinely love driving. But I also discovered something else I loved: teaching my own sons to drive.

I took enormous pleasure in watching them go from complete beginners to confident, independent drivers. And, perhaps without realising it at the time, teaching my own children taught me something very important about teaching anyone to drive.

You don't get very far by shouting at people.

It sounds obvious, but learning to drive can test even the most patient parent. You're sitting in the passenger seat of a car being driven by someone who, not that long ago, you were teaching to ride a bicycle. You know them incredibly well. You've watched them make questionable decisions throughout their childhood, and now they're approaching a roundabout in your car.

It can feel incredibly vulnerable.

But shouting doesn't make somebody a better driver. Usually, it does precisely the opposite.

When somebody is learning, they are going to make mistakes. If every mistake is met with anger, frustration or criticism, they quickly begin to feel stupid. Then they become anxious. They stop experimenting, stop making decisions for themselves and start worrying more about upsetting the person sitting beside them than about what's happening on the road.

And once somebody becomes frightened of getting things wrong, learning becomes much harder.

Think about how we teach children to walk

There is an analogy I often think about.

When our children were learning to walk, they fell over constantly. They wobbled. They bumped into things. They misjudged distances. They occasionally headed enthusiastically towards somewhere we really didn't want them to go.

Yet I don't remember looking at any of my sons after another unsuccessful attempt and thinking:

"Well, that one's clearly not a walker."

None of us does.

We understand instinctively that falling over is part of learning to walk.

So we give them encouragement. We celebrate the tiny successes. We let them practise somewhere relatively safe. We don't expect them to run before they can walk.

And, crucially, we manage the risk for them while they're not yet capable of managing it themselves.

At first, we might hold both of their hands. Later, perhaps just one. We might put reins on them when they're somewhere particularly hazardous.

As a driving instructor, I suppose my dual controls are the motoring equivalent of toddler reins.

They're there if things get out of control, but the objective isn't to keep using them forever.

Gradually, we intervene less and less. Eventually, we're simply watching.

And that's remarkably similar to learning to drive. (If you're helping your own son or daughter practise, my Parents' Guide puts this into practical steps.)

Good teaching means gradually letting go

When someone first sits behind the wheel, they need a lot of help.

There are things they simply cannot be expected to know yet. So I instruct them. I choose suitable roads. I control the level of difficulty. I anticipate risks that they aren't yet experienced enough to recognise, and if necessary I intervene.

Then, as their ability develops, I start doing less.

Rather than telling them exactly what to do, I might ask a question. I encourage them to look further ahead, assess the situation and reach their own conclusion.

Eventually, my job is largely to sit quietly and watch them drive.

That's the goal.

It's rather like watching your child walk independently for the first time. The success isn't that they can do it while you're holding their hand. It's that they no longer need you to.

Mistakes aren't evidence that somebody can't drive

This is perhaps the biggest lesson I've carried from parenting into my work as a driving instructor.

A learner making a mistake isn't necessarily evidence that they're bad at driving. Very often, it's simply evidence that they're learning.

Of course, driving has consequences that falling over on the carpet doesn't. We can't simply allow every mistake to play itself out and hope for the best. That's why good instruction involves carefully managing risk.

I wouldn't take a complete beginner onto a busy dual carriageway any more than I'd encourage a toddler who has just learnt to stand to practise beside a swimming pool.

You increase the challenge as their ability increases.

Sometimes I'll allow a learner to make a small mistake because experiencing the consequence is enormously valuable. At other times, I'll intervene because allowing the situation to develop would be unsafe.

Knowing the difference is a very important part of teaching.

Parents have one particular disadvantage

There's another reason I think teaching your own children can be unusually difficult.

You know too much about them.

You remember the child who climbed onto something after being specifically told not to. You remember the impulsive decisions, the broken ornaments and the occasions when "I've got this" was immediately followed by evidence that they very definitely hadn't.

Then suddenly that same person has control of two tonnes of moving machinery and you're sitting beside them without a steering wheel.

It's understandable that parents sometimes become nervous.

But your son or daughter isn't helped by feeling your anxiety.

If anything, they need the opposite. They need to feel that the person beside them believes they're capable of doing it.

That doesn't mean ignoring mistakes or pretending everything is wonderful when it isn't. Good teaching requires honesty. Sometimes I have to tell a learner that something wasn't good enough, or that a decision was potentially dangerous.

But there is an enormous difference between correcting somebody and making them feel small.

I can challenge the driving without attacking the driver.

Confidence grows from encouragement

Teaching my sons reinforced something that I now try to bring to every lesson I give.

People generally perform better when they feel safe enough to learn.

That means they need permission to get things wrong occasionally. They need to know that a mistake isn't going to be met with anger. They need constructive feedback, encouragement when they've done something well and appropriate challenges when they're ready for them.

Most importantly, they need patience.

Because the learner who stalls three times today may barely think about the clutch in six months' time. The learner who finds roundabouts overwhelming today may eventually negotiate them without consciously thinking about every individual step.

Just as we don't expect a toddler's first few steps to look like an Olympic sprint, we shouldn't expect someone's first few hours behind the wheel to look like an experienced driver's journey.

Learning takes time.

Eventually, you get to sit back and admire them

Perhaps that's the part I enjoy most.

There comes a point where you realise you're no longer really teaching.

You're watching.

The learner who once needed instructions for almost everything is now looking ahead, spotting hazards, making sensible decisions and dealing with situations independently. Occasionally you might offer a little coaching or point something out, but increasingly, they don't need you.

As a parent, there is something particularly special about seeing that happen to your own children.

But I get a version of that feeling with every learner I teach.

Someone arrives for their first lesson unable to drive. Gradually, lesson by lesson, the support comes away. The instructions become questions. The questions become silence.

And eventually they don't need me sitting beside them at all.

Perhaps that's why parenting has influenced the way I teach more than I initially realised.

Whether you're teaching a child to take their first steps or a teenager to make their first journey behind the wheel, the principles aren't actually that different:

Keep them safe. Don't ask for more than they're ready for. Let them make manageable mistakes. Encourage them. Be patient. Step in when they genuinely need you. And, little by little, learn to let go.

Because that's ultimately what both parenting and teaching someone to drive are about.

• More about me →
• What motor racing taught me about teaching →
• Read the Parents' Guide →