Driving Lessons, Anyone? By Terri White

Driving Lessons, Anyone?
By Terri White
 
Back in the day, students took Driver’s Ed in school. An old codger prepared students for the written test, administered the exam, and then supervised our street driving.  Because the school outfitted the  Driver’s Ed cars with dual brakes, the instructor in the front passenger seat could tap the brake if he felt the student needed to stop or slow down - but wasn’t.  That irked me to no end.

I was a cooperative teenager.  I always tried my best in school, did my homework, turned it in on time, and studied diligently for tests. But there was something about Driver’s Ed that brought out the worst in me.  Or maybe it was my instructor. Or maybe I’m making excuses.

He was a round little man with a gravelly voice and a face so ugly it could stop traffic. Tufts of hair sprouted from his ears and nose.  Granted, he couldn’t help being homely, but he sure could have trimmed those nose and ear hairs. Ugh!

When he pumped the brake, I yelled at him. Shocking, I know. It even shocked me. I guess I was stressed.  Who wouldn’t be with him in the car?  But I’m making excuses again, right? No surprise that he gave me a ‘C’ for my final grade amid my other ‘As’ and ‘Bs’.

In those days, the law required us to learn on a standard transmission, but we could take our test with an automatic.  Go figure.  But, hey, I can still drive a stick shift.  In fact, my 2016 Jeep is a stick.  Lucky me.

Back to Driver’s Ed.  When I scheduled my driver’s test, my dad announced, “You’re not ready.” I didn’t listen.  Of course, I failed.  Parallel parking kicked my-you-know-what. Sigh.  After a couple more months of panic-stricken practice, I finally passed the test the second time. Even so, my lousy depth perception has stuck like glue, so I avoid parallel parking to a fault. 

Since then, I have driven all over the U.S.A., lived through a few fender benders, received a few speeding tickets, and experienced flat tires.  I’ve driven in blinding rain, smothering fog, icy roads, and blizzards. I’ve picked up hitchhikers. I’ve even driven drunk - during my “taxing twenties”. Not proud memories.

When my boys hit the learning-to-drive age, we sent them to a private Driver’s Ed program since they didn’t attend public school.  Once licensed, they, of course, drove too fast and earned their share of tickets. 

One son received so many tickets no company would insure him, which forced him into the state insurance pool for a hefty $400 a month.  It wouldn’t surprise me if every Cleburne cop had posted his license number and truck description on their dashes.  He couldn’t catch a break.

Yet I remember whizzing down the highway at 90 mph at age 18.  That underdeveloped frontal lobe will inevitably trip up a young person – driving or not. If your family has never experienced this, lucky you.  Most likely, though, you just struggle with different problems.

 As our daughter reached driving age, we discovered that no companies provided private Driver’s Ed anymore. So we availed ourselves of the new parent-taught driver’s programs. She studied and passed the written test. Now on to street driving. Truthfully, it’s a blur. Pretty sure that I pawned off most of it on Dad. Whew! Dodged a bullet there.

After we were satisfied with her skills, we took her to the DMV. Guess what? They no longer required a driver’s test since we used an authorized program.  License given and off she drove.  And a more cautious driver than her brothers, I might add.

So driving.  I’m not the world’s greatest driver, but then I’m not the worst either.  Fast forward to teenage grandchildren.  Somehow my son elected me to teach his two oldest to drive. Not my husband.  Me. How I allowed myself to get sucked into that, still puzzles me.  Quite frankly, though, I did a pretty darn good job.
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Luckily, we live across the street from a church building with a large parking lot. Our grandkids learned to scooter, skateboard, and ride bikes in that lot.  They still play there when they visit. It’s also great for new drivers to learn the feel of the car.

After that, we stayed on quiet residential streets. First, they practiced driving straight and stopping at intersections. Once mastered, they practiced right turns.  Finally, left turns.  Then we put it all together, remaining on the quiet streets. 

By the time they gained confidence and skill in those, they drove on busy streets. Scarier. A lot more happening.  More to watch.  Main Cleburne rule: never turn left on Henderson unless at a light. Practice, practice, practice.

Eventually, we took to the highway.   County Road 1434, which loops around highway 67, proved the perfect road.  The surfaces changed frequently.  Sometimes without a shoulder.  My warning? If you steer into the ditch, you pay for the wrecker. I was not joking. They remained on the road. Honestly? My heart rate ramped up the entire drive.

Soon after, they whizzed down Chisholm Trail. I remember my dad giving me the wheel on the interstate. Although terrified to drive 70mph, I forced myself.  Even 50mph terrified me, but I grew used to it – obviously.

Although my parallel parking skills are not stellar, somehow I managed to teach it to the grandkids. The DMV offers a handy practice slot that we used a hundred times – at least it seemed like it.  After they mastered parallel parking, they took the test.  Not sure what changed from my daughter not needing a test to now.  Twenty years of mind-numbing bureaucracy, I guess. Nonetheless, they passed with flying colors.
           
​My son’s youngest turns 16 this February.  From the rooftop, I’m announcing my retirement as his Driver’s Ed teacher. He only lives two blocks from me.  Surely, he got the message. I think it’d be a good father-daughter bonding experience.  Or not. Regardless, I’m only gonna cheer them on – from a distance.