“Mommy, those people were just staring at me. They’re probably wondering why such a giant girl is in a booster seat.” We are driving in my car, and my almost-10-year-old daughter is once again launching into her speech as to why she should not be in a booster seat. It’s likely that they were not staring at her, because our windows are so tinted it is impossible to see the silhouette of a human being through the glass, and yet, she is slouching in her seat, almost ducking to hide herself from the mobsters who she imagines are mocking her for following safety regulations and for listening to her mother.
“I’m the only one in fourth grade who has to!”
We have a loophole to the booster rule. My car was purchased as a five-seater, however we installed in the trunk two tiny seats that face each other, specially constructed for young children under a certain height and weight, and because of the buckle positioning, it eliminates the need for any added protection. This appeased her for a while, but she eventually decided that she would rather ride facing forward, and moved up toward the middle row, tightly packed with an array of car seats.
“Look! Annie is in the front seat!” she cried one afternoon, as Annie’s dad drove down the street and there was Annie, riding shotgun.
“Oh, that’s because she’s a few months older than you and taller than you. Or because her parents are from another country and so they don’t really know the rules here.” I was happy that I was able to quickly invent so many possibilities, when in truth, I had seen many younger kids riding without boosters or in the front. And my daughter had noticed this too, frequently mentioning that she feels like a baby.
To alleviate some of this recurring battle, I generally demonstrate that the decision is not my own and it is someone else’s. “What if a policeman pulls us over and asks why you are not properly restrained?” I ask, and this quiets her for some time, as she is afraid to go to jail. I actually don’t really know what will happen if a police officer finds us like this; it is more likely that I will get a fine or a ticket but that is irrelevant for the argument.
For even more reinforcement, at her yearly growth checkup, I always broach the topic with the pediatrician. “I have a friend who can drive,” the doctor tells her, “but she is so thin and small, that she still uses a booster seat.” My daughter looks horrified at this joke, hoping that won’t be her fate, and without a single argument, she climbs into the booster seat after the appointment. All is quiet in the car for a few weeks.
Until the State of New Jersey recently changed its regulations. “Passengers 8 to 18 years of age (regardless of weight) ride properly secured in a seat belt.” No mention of any booster seats, there. This age bracket included not only her, but her younger brother as well. They would both be liberated.
I smiled all day while imagining sharing this exciting news with her. It was an end to any future arguments (at least on this topic), a milestone of growth and entering into adulthood, an opening into the world of playing DJ in the front seat and changing my preferred music. “I have some exciting news to share,” I said, after school that day, bending down to her level on the grass, and I showed her the article on my phone, so she could read the words for herself.
“This is the best day ever!” she screamed, and did some flips on the lawn, while squealing, and making some grass-confetti that littered our hair, making it look like green highlights.
And, yet, the next day, she entered the car and absentmindedly sat in a booster seat again. She no longer seemed to care, one way or another. Until she discovered the glorious freedom of the front.
Sarah Abenaim is a freelance writer living in Teaneck. She can be reached at [email protected].
By Sarah Abenaim
