Remember how badly you wanted to drive anywhere when you were 16 years old?
My mom could mention that we were low on milk, and from across the house, I'd come running in, saying, "I can run to the grocery store. Can I take your car?" I'd overhear my brother complaining that all his mechanical pencils had just run out of lead, and I'd pop up, "If you can get Mom to let me take the car, I'll go get you more lead." My dad would mention that it would be nice to be able to hang the new family portrait that Mom's been nagging him about, but there were no nails. I'd suggest that it would be more than easy for me to just take his car right down to the hardware store and pick those up for him.
Never are teenagers more helpful than when they have been newly indoctrinated into the world of operating large machinery.
I'd say, for the most part, I was no different. I was anxious to 'bear this right of passage'; to add another notch to my 'almost-an-adult' belt; to acquire a new skill, to get places quicker and more efficiently, but mostly I was hell bent on one thing: freedom.
When I was 15, my dad got a new car. He traded in his rusted-out, barely-running navy blue Chevrolet Chevette for a brand new, teal Chevy Cavalier. It was the basic model, no frills, but it was new. It had that new car smell...for about 15 minutes. Then, my dad drove it off the lot, lighting a Camel Regular and hanging his arm out the window as he bumped the bass to some rockin' Patsy Cline.
I also started taking tennis lessons when I was 15....mostly because I had a friend who was pretty good at it, and also because tennis was a 'no cut' team. When I was 14and I was a freshman, I had tried out for every sport I had played in elementary school and junior highschool (both were one and the same...they were at our church).
As it turns out, when you go to a junior high with 'no cut' sports, you may never know how much you really suck until you actually do try out for the same sport somewhere else. My brother, Chris, tried to warn me before I went to basketball tryouts. I was practicing lay ups in the driveway when he came out, shook his head, and said, "Erin, don't even bother. You're only going to embarass yourself." I looked at him defiantly and thought 'I'll show him!' (he was right).
I also tried out for Cheerleading which was an even BIGGER debaucle than basketball, but at least with basketball, I looked like I might have skill. I mean, I was pretty tall...but when it came to cheerleading, all the other girls trying out were about one to two feet shorter than me...and so was the coach.
I could tell you more about my many humiliations, but I must get back to the story at hand! So, when I was 15, I took tennis lessons and my dad would drive me every week. I guess my mom figured this would be our coerced and forced 'bonding time'. Every week, we'd drive there, listening to classic country or am talk radio. The way home was more of the same, and every week was also pretty much the same.
Therefore, you can imagine my suprise when one day as we were leaving my tennis lesson, he turns to me and says, "You want to drive home, kid?" I wasn't sure why he was offering this rare privlege, and I didn't care. I grabbed the keys out of his hand before he could change his mind and hopped into the driver's seat.
I put the key in the ignition and looked for the gear shift. "Now, wait a second! You need to adjust the seat and the mirrors first. You can't just jump in and floor it!" I nodded like this was obvious to me, and I had just forgotten. I was a teenager, after all...I knew everything.
Once my father was satisfied that the mirrors and the seat were in the proper positions, I was ready to get going. I moved the gear shift until the little box surrounded the 'd' for 'drive' and i gingerly placed my right foot on the gas.
Nothing happened. I pushed a little harder, but nothing still. My dad was staring at me. "Well, GO already!" I let me foot rest more forcefully on the pedal and the car shot forward.
"Well, you don't have to push that hard! Good Lord! Ok, why don't you take a few laps around this parking lot and then pull out onto this side street over here." My dad pointed to his right where there was a back exit that led to a neighborhood.
I did as I was told, and after about 10 minutes of driving up and down quiet, empty streets, my father turned toward me and said, "Ok, why don't you go ahead and take a right up here onto 45th Ave?" 45th Avenue was a regular, BUSY street with traffic signals, several lanes and other cars, lots of other cars.
I was terrified. "WHAT? I can't go on a busy street yet! This is my first lesson! I'm not ready yet!" My dad shook his head and said, "Eh, you'll never be ready. Come on. Let's go." I let my foot ease off the brake and inched up to the intersection. I looked to the left and I saw what looked like 80 cars coming at me all at once, rushing past us in a loud gush of motors, wind and wayword horn honks from disgruntled drivers, fellow drivers. I was a driver now!
The traffic seemed to thin out a little bit, and I saw my chance. I eased forward, ready to pull out...when I saw a large van pull into the far lane, zooming toward me. I hesitated, waiting for the van to pass. The van passed. I breathed a sigh of relief and got ready to go again, but now three more cars were coming, staggered across the two lanes of traffic. I waited again. Now it looked clear....but...wait, no, I saw something on the horizon. I hesitated.
My father was never one known for an overabundance of patience, and I could tell by his breathing, he was getting really irritated by the amount of time it was taking me to make this right hand turn. His once philanthropic attitude had gone sour when he realized he was going to miss the sci fi marathon he had been looking forward to all day.
He hadn't anticipated that his new pupil would be such a slow study. When I saw his fingers drumming on the dashboard of the car, and I noticed him craning his neck to see around me, to see for himself, what the hold up was...I knew I was in for it.
"JUST PULL OUT THERE!!!!!"
I looked at my dad with wide eyes.
"But..."
He threw up his hands, muttering something about me being just like my mother under his breath.
"I said...GO! STEP ON IT! PULL OUT THERE! They're not going to hit you."
(The last part actually came out sounding more like "They're not gonna hit-cha!" It was not a nice, civil, well-articulated request, it was a heated, damn-pissed, Chicago-accented, 'six-word-sentence-that-actually-sounds-like one-long-word' COMMAND).
I swallowed and peeled out into the neareast permissable lane. I cringed when a cacophony of honking horns filled the car and my dad flung obscene hand gestures their way in response, yelling,
"OH PLEASE! SHOVE IT! YOU DON'T DRIVE MUCH BETTER THAN THIS LITTLE GIRL, ASSHOLE! WHY DON'T YOU TAKE IT HOME AND PLAY WITH IT!!!?!?!?!"
I couldn't help it. I started to laugh. The whole situation was just too funny...for me, at least. I couldn't say the same for dear old dad.
He looked over at me, still highly irritated, "And WHAT it so funny?" I kept my eyes on the road and my hands at 10 and 2 as I said, "You just get so mad...and the way you act toward complete strangers (a little giggle escaped)...Papa, it was my fault. I cut those people off. There was NO reason for you to shout at them like you did."
This only served to piss him off more. He told me my driving lesson was OVER.
"Pull over up ahead. Put the hazards on."
I tightened my grip on the steering wheel and looked in the rearview mirror. There were millions of cars lined up behind me.
"Uh...can we do a Chinese Fire Drill instead??" I asked, my eyes darting between the road ahead and the road behind.
"A Chinese what??"
I could tell he was growing increasingly agitated, but I wasn't sure how to pull over and I definitely didn't know where the hazards were.
"It's...um...this thing. Sarah taught me? Well, it's where you get out of the car when you are stopped at a stop light. Everyone gets out and changes places."
He was staring at me again. (I could see him in my peripheral vision...I didn't dare take my eyes off the road.)
"Pull over up here."
It was like he hadn't heard the Chinese Fire Drill description at all. I guessed it wasn't up for discussion. I thought about re-introducing it, but decided I better not.
"I CAN'T pull over. We didn't practice that part."
My dad threw his head back against the headrest in disgust. To him, it was the easiest thing in the world, and he couldn't comprehend how I could possibly not be able to make it happen.
"For Christ's sake! You at least have to go the speed limit!"
In the time it had taken us to debate the finer points of pulling over and Chinese Fire Drills, I had inadvertently slowed the Cavalier down to an awkward 30 mph in a 45 mph zone. Cars were flying by us on either side. I was getting overwhelmed. There were cars everywhere!
"OK! OK! I TOLD YOU I WASN'T READY FOR A BUSY STREET!!!!" I screeched.
I could feel the hot prick of tears forming in the back of my eyes and fought to hold them back.
My dad was just about ready to lose his mind at this point.
"Turn right up here, into the Dunkin Donuts parking lot."
I saw it coming and tensed up as I prepared to expertly maneuver the car into the lot.
Unfortunately, I mistimed it, and I hit the curb.
"SON OF A BITCH! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!?"
I frantically pulled at the steering wheel as I tried to get it off the street.
"Shit. I probably have a flat tire now. PUT IT IN PARK!"
I did as I was told and scrambled over the gear shift to get into the passenger seat. My dad was outside, inspecting the right front wheel. Luckily, it was fine.
Incredibly, we made it home that day...not really sure how. I'm thinking that I blocked it out...kind of like when your body goes into shock to protect you?? That was my first and last driving lesson with my dad.
When we got home, I told my mom about our adventure, she dropped her knitting, and said, "Larry! Why on earth would you teach anyone to drive??!? You've been to defensive driving school almost every year I've known you. You are one of the worst drivers I know." (This did nothing for his mood.)
After about 2 months of begging, bargaining and making empty promises, I talked my parents into letting me sign up for Driver's Ed. Once they had agreed, I made sure we didn't waste any time. On the morning of January 24th 1993, we walked into the driving school on Indianapolis Blvd and met with Jerry Ryerson, the guy who owned the place, taught the classes, maintenanced the cars, and accepted the cash. He was someone that was always smiling and when he spoke, it was almost as if he had a twinkle in his eye. You couldn't wait to hear what he was going to say next. I liked him right away and flourished under his tutelage.
I later came to realize that Jerry had help being the one man show down at the driving school. As it turned out, he grew his own marijuana plants in the back shed which explains his many 'happy breaks', his neverending patience with young drivers, and his ever smiley attitude.
Maybe if my dad would have lit up a joint instead of a Camel, my first driving lesson would have gone just as smoothly as the ones to follow???
No comments:
Post a Comment