"I know myself," said Grace Hikida, 81. "If I'm going to town, I ask my son to drive. But if it's going to Kailua, I like that free-agency."

It's a hot topic, especially now that legislation has been introduced to require a road test for drivers 75 and older. As reaction time slows, as eyesight and hearing starts to wane in later years, many seniors know it's time to cut back on distance driving or give it up completely.

What happens when you give up the keys? Experts and seniors say that the key issue is losing independence.

"We counsel folks, 'You can't tell them to stop driving without giving them other choices,'" said Diane Terada of Catholic Charities Hawai'i, which has a transportation program for the elderly.

First, explains Harvey Peltz, volunteer AARP regional coordinator of the drivers program, comes what he calls the "self-limiting" phase: Seniors will continue to take familiar routes but refrain from uncomfortable situations, such as highway driving or going to a part of town they're not sure of.

Later, seniors with reasonable common sense will voluntarily give up the keys if they know they can't drive anymore, he said. The AARP's driver-safety program helps drivers 50 and older refresh their skills and decide if, perhaps, they're ready to hit the brakes for the last time.

Educating the older driver

Bill Maxwell

Richard Hughes

They got serious, however, when they talked about how the loss of driving constricts older people's lifestyles.

"It's the way of nature," said Maxwell. "You zero down to your death."

"I often thought it'd be tough (to quit driving)," added Hughes. "But if I become a danger to other people, I'll give it up."

Instructor Jerry Yee, a retired engineer, gave the 20 people attending some tips to help older drivers, who may have slower reflexes: Allow a three-second "space cushion." When you come to a landmark, such as a sign or a tree, count to three (one-thousand-one, one-thousand-two, one-thousand-three) to see if there's enough space between you and the car ahead of you.

"If you follow that three-second rule, you'll never get into another accident ... that's your fault," said Yee, who's been teaching the course for six years.

When they started the last chapter in the workbook, each person in the room had to ask themselves the tough question: Is it time to give up the keys?

Giving up the keys

He remembered the day clearly. It was raining cats and dogs, he said. He had gone to lunch, and on the way back, he came to a familiar stop. He could see through the rain that a car on the other side had somehow ended up straddling the raised curb of the median.

"That sure looked like Mom's car," he thought.

Sure enough, he circled back to check, only to be met by a police officer at the scene.

"Do you know this woman?" the officer asked.

Yep. It was McAteer's mother, shaken and embarrassed. When they got home, he said to her, "I think it's time to give up driving."

It wasn't a hard conversation, he said: "I felt she knew."

During the break, Yee recounted how one class participant hadn't shown up for the second half of the two-day class. He called. She told him she saw herself in the problem category and she was giving up her keys.

That's not unusual, said AARP's Peltz. That's why the class focuses not only on how safe a driver still is, but on how expensive driving can be and how other options may be cost-efficient. Even paying a friend gas-money helps.

"Are you willing to pay $5,000 for those 16 miles you drive a week?" Peltz said. "I tell people they can take a cruise on the money they save."

The adjustments

We all know giving up the keys isn't easy. Your life constricts. Your sphere grows smaller. Other options have their drawbacks.

One of Hikida's children who works in the insurance industry wants her to stop driving. But the Kailua octogenarian knows it would not just cramp her lifestyle but affect her family. She drops off and picks up her grandchildren at school. She also served as the primary driver of her husband before he died, so she knows what the loss of such easy mobility would mean.

As she talked, her friend, Joan Pacheco, nodded in empathy.

Pacheco has eyesight problems and can only make out shapes. When she lost her driving privileges, she lost a lot:

"I lost my independence, my job, and I couldn't go anywhere," the 70-year-old said. "I didn't mind being blind. But then you have to depend on other people."

She gets rides from her children and friends, though they often need to be planned far in advance. She was glad once she was signed up with Handi-Van.

"You have to wait, but I don't mind," she said. "I take my little walker and I have a nice time. I get out of my shell."

Effect on others

Wayne Hikida, Grace's son, said he worries not just about her injuring herself, but passengers or other people on the road.

"When you get that old, you don't see what other people see," he said. "A friend of mine got his father a chit where he can call a cab and he'll pick up the tab. The father doesn't want to do it."

In his work, Wayne Hikida has seen bad accidents involving older drivers, but understands why seniors may be reluctant to give up the keys.

"They're now beholden to other people," he said. "I realize it's a really difficult situation, but the overriding thing is the welfare of her and others. That's why I like this (proposed legislation); it'll take the onus off the children."

Ask Joan Pacheco's daughter, Linda Pacheco-Shaffer, about how her life was affected when her mother lost her eyesight, and she sums it up in one word: "drastically."

Her mother is very active, "very much a go-go-go person," Pacheco-Shaffer said. "She likes to go to the store, grocery-shop."

Her own schedule is different. Besides working two jobs, she herself is a parent.

Her shopping style is different, which causes each some frustration, both admit: Mom takes a leisurely pace. Daughter doesn't like to shop, and when she does, just grabs what she needs and heads out.

"When she lost her sight, we'd go in the store, and we could spend four hours in Safeway," Pacheco-Shaffer said. "In the beginning, it would be, 'What's this can?' And I'd say, 'It's canned beans.' Now, I just say, 'You don't need that.' It gets frustrating, I know. She likes to take her time."

And there are compromises: When Pacheco wants to go grocery shopping, she's happy if her daughter drops her off and picks her up later.

"Yes, she'd be happy if she was left there for hours," Pacheco-Shaffer admits. "But I never could do it. Finally, I did. She's OK, but I can't help but worry the whole time."

Eventually Pacheco-Shaffer got her mother a cell phone, so her mother can get picked up sooner, if she wants.

At the senior club meeting, Pacheco smiled indulgently as she explained that her daughter was "worse than a mother. ... She wants to do everything for me."

When told later, Pacheco-Shaffer laughed sheepishly. "I'm very protective," she said.

And she's willing to go the extra mile for her mother.

"It's a pleasure, and I'm glad I do it," Pacheco-Shaffer said. "I know I can't do enough for her, and it kills me."