What goes around comes around … and hits you in the back fender.

My fifteen-year-old daughter, Mariah, just got her driver’s permit. She’s going to drive a car. Sometimes, she walks into walls and doesn’t know how it happened. She’s going to drive a car that’s registered and insured in my name.

My dad was my driver’s ed teacher in the literal sense. It wasn’t what he did for a living, but it’s what he did for an extra paycheck the year he injured his back at his regular job. He taught at the “Sears Driving School.” It never struck me as odd that I was taking driver’s ed at the same store that I got my first training bra, but I found it plenty bizarre that my dad was teaching driver’s ed. Anyone who’s ever been in my dad’s car will note the absurdity.

My dad’s driving is … unconventional. My dad believes in blinker fluid conservation. Inside the turn signal mechanism is a highly expensive fluid, I assume, which is sent to alert the bulbs in the front and rear of a car, and each time the rest of the driving population uses the turn signal, this fluid — blinker fluid– is needlessly squandered. My dad is the original pioneer in blinker fluid conservation, and for this we are all very proud.

Along with blinker fluid conservation, my dad changes lanes in such an abrupt manor as to suggest that the mere practice of changing lanes should be performed so as to cause all other drivers on the road to comment: “I did not see that coming. Did you see that, honey? I did not see that coming. He is the master.” My dad is the master of the left-hook lane change.

Then there is my dad’s signature bumper tap, which, as a matter of survival, is also used conservatively. If you happen to be the vehicle in front of my dad at a red light, waiting to turn right (likely utilizing your right turn signal, and damn the wastefulness), and you had the opportunity, Dad may use the patented bumper tap as a way to let you know that he’s on his way to Perkins, and his coffee’s getting cold.

My dad has never been in an accident, nor has he ever bumper tapped a murderous ex-convict with an arsenal in his glove box, which is why he will be turning 79 this July.

My dad never gets mad behind the wheel, though. He’s caused my mom to get mad a time or twelve. But he never gets angry at those around him. It’s nothing personal. He’s just tailgating you because you’re driving too slowly.

I tried to keep my status as the driver’s ed teacher’s daughter quiet, and as the shyest girl in just about any peer gathering, anywhere, this wasn’t too tough. My dad was also driving bus that year, with a broken back. It’s a testament to my utter self-centeredness that my biggest concern during this period was making sure nobody knew that I was related to the guy in the front of the room. Meanwhile, my poor dad made his living by queuing the blood-splatter videos meant to scare us into being experienced drivers, no doubt wondering if this is what his life was all about, breaking his back to earn a living for a kid who wouldn’t even admit she was related.

I drove with my dad on my permit for several months, preparing for the big test, which I scheduled for 8 a.m. on the morning of my 16th birthday. They say never to do that because if you fail, then you’ve ruined your birthday. But I passed with a 92 percent score. My parallel parking was marked down because I parked approximately three blocks away from the curb, and my turning on green was marked down because I came to a dead stop. For about ten seconds. Nerves. I vapor-locked.

Now daddy’s little girl is all grown up and getting ready to teach her own daughter how to drive. It’s important to note that my dad’s driving record is clean as a whistle. As for mine…

*Mailbox homicide on East County Line at age 16. “Dad, the good news is, I’m fine. Dad? Are you there?”

*Turn signal/passing on the right misunderstanding at 17.

*Rear-ended in North Minneapolis while making a run for the border, age 19. Mostly not my fault.

*Arguing with my then fiancé at freeway speeds: age 20.

*Got rear-ended again and put on the road to chiro-craziness.

*Rear-ended again on the highway.

*Rear-ended by a student driver in front of a police department. That’s it. I’m removing the neon “hit me” sign immediately.

*Car versus fire hydrant at age 29. Kind of a funny story involving a stray black lab named “Buster.” My husband failed to see the humor.

*Thanksgiving, age 30 … backed into my neighbor who was busy backing into me. Mutual dough-headedness and agreement to utilize our “looking” abilities on future reverse maneuvers.

*Last week: Deer versus Toyota. Quote of the week: “Honey, why don’t you let me take your new car to work tonight?”

Other than that last bit, I’ve been living clean for four years now. I’ll never look back. Unless, of course, I’m in reverse.