Memoir+ARBE

Driving Lessons “Stop! Stop! Stop!” Mom cried.

I obediently slammed my foot on the brakes, fingers tightening around the steering wheel. “I don’t want to do this anymore.” I whined, embarrassed. I was the first to volunteer and now I made myself look like a fool; I almost ruined the tires of my mother’s van because I turned too soon. Just hearing the hysteria in her voice almost gave me a heart attack.

It was never-wracking. I found it hard to get a grip on myself since I was so accustomed to being driven around for the last fifteen years. I knew that this would take some getting used to.

A lone van sat in an abandoned parking lot. The windows were rolled all the way down, letting the sounds from outside drift in: cars zooming past on the road behind us; the rustle of trees. The sun was shining, the sky was clear, but it was really hot, so hot that I was roasting in my black jeans and shirt. It was my first day of driving and I was ready to quit.

I remembered the time when my mom mentioned giving my sister and I some driving lessons. She informed me that she had taught my brother, and I saw the idea as a plus because I would have some experience before school rolled around and I took Driver’s Ed. To tell you the truth, getting behind the wheel made me excited. Just the prospect of driving to the library or the movies by myself without bugging my parents to take me there and listening to the tunes on my iPod instead of the outdated music my mom and dad had was good enough to make me smile. What I didn’t expect was how stressful it could be.

It came as a surprise, really. The lessons. The three of us were coming from the library and riding down the road. I was leafing through some books I checked out, wondering how I would be able to finish them all before I had to turn them in. When my eyes wandered to the window, I realized that my mom had turned into a parking lot, and I instantly knew what was to follow - even though I didn’t say it out loud. Mom told us she was going to teach us how to drive (surprise, surprise), and we couldn’t help but smile.

It felt weird, sitting in the driver’s seat. Years ago, when I was a kid, I would sit here and pretend to steer the wheel. Now, I was finally doing it for real. Yet, it felt so foreign to me; hearing the vroom of the engine when I put my foot on the accelerator; feeling the brakes grind the car to a stop; turning the blinkers on. I saw my parents do this all the time, but for me… it was cool. My mom moved to the passenger's seat and I sat at the driver’s, seat belt fastened. She ordered me to adjust the mirrors, and I did. She also told me to do the same with my seat, which was necessary since she was shorter than me and I needed ample room for my legs because I couldn’t sit in a hot, cramped car all day. I put the van into drive and it inched forward. I gently put my foot on the gas pedal, making the thing move a little faster.

Driving straight is the easy part. Around the corner… now that was my first challenge. I was about to round the corner, then my mom said “Stop! Stop! Stop!” because I was getting a little too close. I furiously turned the wheel just in time and put a foot on the brake pedal before the car could sustain any damage. If we had a smaller car, then it would be way easier. At that moment, I wanted out.

“Why not?”

“It’s too hard!” At least I thought so; keeping your eye on the road while glancing at three mirrors every few seconds was a job. Thank goodness no cars were nearby because I would have gotten into a dozen accidents by now. That was enough incentive to get out and let my sister give it a try.

“Keep going.” And I did, but with not as much enthusiasm as before.

Mom gave me a lot of pointers along the way: don’t speed up when going around the corner, slow down; at an intersection, pull out a little to see if cars are coming (just in case someone comes flying around the corner without looking); and, most importantly, keep your eyes on the road.

Every time I was about to turn, I’d give my mom a quizzical a glance and ask: “Now?” because I didn’t want a repeat of that little would-be accident moments before. She’d say yes or give a nod of approval, and I would turn.

When I was done, my sister took over (which included lots of cringing and yelling from near collisions) and I concluded we both did a pretty okay job for beginners. I was grateful when mom drove us home once it was over. I knew driving was looming in the future, but I was perfectly content with letting my parents worry about what’s on the road while I just chilled out in the back seat.

The outcome of that experience came out good. That day meant a lot to me because it was a milestone in my life, one of the many transitions from childhood to adulthood. In a matter of months, when I’m sixteen, I’ll have a license and will be behind the wheel. One of my parents will be in the passenger or back seat; how ironic. It’s inevitable - I know. No more sleeping in the backseat. No more gazing out the window. No more relaxation. The time will come for me to drive, whether I like it or not - but it’s only the beginning.

I let myself stand in the way. When I wanted to give up because the lessons weren’t coming out the way I had anticipated, mom made me press on. My first experience was pretty scary, considering my nerves getting in the way of things, but I know it will become second nature to me. I learned that you can’t quit even if you think something’s impossible, and as long as you persevere, it won’t be.

Mom took us out to give the van another spin a second time last summer. When I reflect on it, I realize it’s getting slightly easier. I think I conquered my fear of driving…

A little.