I grew up in the south of Spain in a little community called Estepona. I was 16 when one morning, my father told me I could drive him into a remote village called Mijas, about 18 miles away, on the condition that I take the car in to be serviced(,) at a nearby garage. Having just learned to drive and hardly ever having the opportunity to use the car, I readily accepted. I drove Dad into Mijas and promised to pick him up at 4 p.m., then drove to a nearby garage and dropped off the car. Because I had a few hours to spare, I decided to catch a couple of movies at a theatre near the garage. However, I became so interested in the films that I didn't pay attention to the time. When the last movie had finished, I looked down at my watch. It was six o'clock. I was two hours late! I knew Dad would be angry if he found out I'd been watching movies. He'd never let me drive again. I decided to tell him that the car needed some repairs and that they had taken longer than had been expected. I drove up to the place where we had planned to meet and saw Dad waiting patiently on the corner. I apologized for being late and told him that I'd come as quickly as I could, but the car had needed some major repairs. I'll never forget the look he gave me. "I'm disappointed that you feel you have to lie to me, Jason." "What do you mean? I'm telling the truth." Dad looked at me again. "When you did not show up, I called the garage to ask if there were any problems, and they told me that you had not yet picked up the car. So you see, I know there were no problems with the car." A feeling of guilt ran through me as I weakly confessed to my trip to the movie theatre and the real reason for my being late. Dad listened intently  as a sadness passed through him. "I'm angry, not with you but with myself. You see, I realize that I have failed as a father if after all these years you feel that you have to lie to me. I have failed because I have brought up a son who cannot even tell the truth to his own father. I'm going to walk home now and think seriously about where I have gone wrong all these years." "But Dad, it's 18 miles to home. It's dark. You can't walk home." My protests and my apologies were useless. I had let my father down and I was about to learn one of the most painful lessons of my life. Dad began walking along the dusty road. I quickly jumped in the car and followed behind, hoping he would weaken. I begged all the way, telling him how sorry I was, but he simply ignored me, continuing on silently, thoughtfully and painfully. For 18 miles I drove behind him, at a speed of about five miles per hour. Seeing my father in so much physical and emotional pain was the most distressing  and painful experience that I have ever faced. However, it was also the most successful lesson. I have never lied to him since. The boy's father allowed the boy to drive the car to Mijas because   _  .
he knew how to get there he promised not to spend too much time at the movie theatre. the boy agreed to pick him up at 4 o'clock he would take the car to be serviced at a nearby garage