Never lend your car to anyone to whom you have given birth.

Erma Bombeck, with her gift for weaving humor into the deepest truths of family life, once declared: “Never lend your car to anyone to whom you have given birth.” At first, these words appear as a jest, lighthearted and playful. Yet beneath the laughter lies a profound teaching about parenthood, trust, and the recklessness of youth. She reminds us that while love for one’s children is endless, wisdom warns against entrusting them with all that is precious, for the young are still learning the weight of responsibility.

This saying belongs to the tradition of maternal wit, where laughter is the cloak for life’s hardest lessons. Bombeck, known for her sharp observations of domestic life, often spoke truths that parents knew but dared not confess aloud. In this phrase, the car becomes more than a vehicle—it is a symbol of freedom, danger, and responsibility. To lend it to one’s child is to surrender not just metal and wheels, but the safety of the beloved and the fruit of one’s labor. Thus, her warning is both practical and symbolic, teaching that love must sometimes be tempered with caution.

History offers us echoes of this wisdom. In ancient Greece, parents warned their sons not to take the family chariot in youthful pride, for many a reckless race ended in tragedy. The myth of Phaethon, who begged to drive the chariot of the sun, stands as a timeless parable. Granted his wish, he lost control, scorching the earth and perishing in flame. So too does Bombeck, in modern tongue, remind us that children, in their eagerness, often overestimate their skill, while underestimating the risks. To hand them the reins too early is to invite disaster.

Consider also the story of President Lyndon B. Johnson’s daughter, Luci. When she was young and eager to drive, she crashed her father’s car, an incident that left him fuming. Though she was unharmed, the damage to the vehicle was a lesson both costly and enduring. Here again we see Bombeck’s point: the car, embodiment of adult responsibility, is not to be given lightly into hands unseasoned by wisdom or discipline.

Yet within the humor lies not merely warning, but also compassion. Bombeck is not ridiculing children, but highlighting the eternal tension between youthful desire for freedom and parental duty to protect. Parents must balance granting independence with guarding against folly. To lend too much too soon is to risk harm; to withhold forever is to deny growth. Thus, her jest conceals a truth as sharp as any proverb: that love is not blind indulgence, but careful discernment.

The lesson for all who hear is clear: let your children earn trust, little by little, before they are granted greater freedom. Teach them responsibility with small tasks before entrusting them with greater ones. Let them walk before they run, and let them bear small consequences before they are exposed to greater dangers. For wisdom grows through gradual responsibility, not reckless indulgence.

So, take this teaching to heart: laugh with Bombeck’s wit, but also heed her wisdom. When your children clamor for the car, or any symbol of adult power, remember that your duty is not to appease their every wish, but to guide them safely to maturity. In time, they will learn to handle freedom with care. Until then, guard what must be guarded, and give only what their wisdom can bear.

Thus, in these playful yet piercing words, Bombeck passes down to us a truth that is both ancient and eternal: that love is not merely the act of giving, but also the courage to withhold. And in this balance, both parent and child find the path to growth, safety, and understanding.