Driving Lessons

At the age of 15 I obtained my learners driving permit. I could “legally” drive if I had a consenting adult beside me, ready to grab the wheel should I FREAK OUT. I don’t know about you, but at 15, I FREAKED OUT A LOT.

My Dad had been trying to teach me to drive our prehistoric, stick shift on the column, International Pickup truck. To add insult to injury, it was puke green. No, I didn’t want to drive the truck. I had my sights set on the 61 Lincoln Continental Four Door Convertible that also sat in my parent’s driveway. My Dad had fully restored it, and it was stunning. We all loved that car. Our wayward cat loved it so much that she had a litter of kittens in the front seat. All I wanted to do was to drive it. Badly. I wanted everyone who knew me to see me driving it. In fact, I wanted everyone who didn’t know me to see me driving it. I was sure it would catapult my social ranking into the stratosphere should I be seen driving such a magnificent vehicle.

After much begging, pleading and cajoling, the time came. I was scheduled to attend a slumber party in another part of town. When I was all packed, my parents announced that I could drive the Lincoln, with my Dad in tow. I called my girlfriends to alert them as to what I would be arriving in, and to let them know that they should be hanging out of the window to watch for me to drive up. With cameras readied.

It was already dark when we began our journey. Which bummed me out just a little. I mean, who could see me actually driving in the dark? We were within about a half a mile of our destination, when my Dad instructed me to make a left hand turn. I dutifully signaled my intention, and waited for traffic to clear. Just as I was beginning the turn, a car came flying over the hill heading straight for us. My Dad yelled (and this was a man who never yelled), “STEP ON IT!” Which I did. I pushed my foot all the way to the floor. The car missed us my inches. And we would have been fine. If I had remembered to straighten out the wheel from the turn.

Details.

We came to a rest only after taking out a light pole, guide wire, and a chain link fence, among smoke and dancing live electrical wires. My Dad had a big bump on the head, but I was unscathed. Physically. My Dad remained calm. Eventually, a tow truck came to haul us out and give us a ride to the gas station while hauling the beloved 61’ Lincoln Continental Convertible behind. The one with a huge gash across it’s grill and a gaping hole in the radiator. When we arrived at the station, I climbed down out of the tow truck. The mechanics were all gathered around, and took one look at this tiny little freckle faced girl, and exclaimed, “YOU DID ALL THAT?” That didn’t help. I began wailing all over again. I then found out that I had knocked out all of the electricity to the northeast part of the city.

The mechanics helped my Dad get the Lincoln at least startable, and we began our long ride home. This time I rode shotgun. Somehow I was no longer in the mood for a party. The silence was deafening. I feared my mother’s reaction when we got home. My Dad had called her before we left the station to inform her of the evenings events. So, I knew she had plenty of time to work up to Good And Mad.

She was waiting for us outside when we arrived home. That was never a good sign. She took a long look at me, and then turned to my Dad and said in her native southern drawl, “Well, why didn’t you let her drive home? She’s got to get back on the horse you know!”

She hugged me and we headed into the house so that I could call my friends and alert them to stop watching for me from the window. Excited high pitched voices greeted me on the other end of the phone. “This is SOOO fun, WE DON’T HAVE ANY ELECTRICITY!” New tears formed, “I know.” After explaining to them what happened a funny thing occurred. My social ranking did indeed increase. I became known as the small girl who caused the event forevereafter referred to as “The Night The Lights Went Out In Colonies North.”

I believe that a song was written, but the location changed to protect the innocent.

I hung up my stirrups for a long while. My parents had to force me to drive again. I think they had visions of a teenage angst ridden me living at home indefinitely. And what did I drive? The ugly, but large and sturdy puke green International Pickup Truck. With pride.

I will forever be grateful to my parents because of the way they handled the situation. My Dad’s calm, and my Mom’s good horse sense attitude went a long way to bolster this little girl’s already shaky confidence. During a pivotal, difficult time. I only pray that we will be able to do the same when the time comes for us to teach our kids to drive. I’m sorry, did I say “us?” I meant, my husband will teach the children to drive.

And what became of the Lincoln? My Dad fully restored it. Once more. But I never graced the drivers seat again.