DRIVEN CRAZY

My great neph Bo recently got his learner’s permit, so I no longer have a good excuse when he says the age-old teen mantra: “Can I drive your car?” Always before, I’ve just said, “My insurance company won’t cover you until you get your permit. Sorry.”

So, when I was in Pittsburg for my recent birthday, it wasn’t long before he hit me up. Well, what was I going to say? No? Heck, no. I had to live up to my word. I remember how I was foaming at the bit to drive when I was 14. He’s 17. He’s earned it for being patient, if nothing else. I handed him the keys and off we went.

Surprisingly, I was mellow about it--unlike my first passengers/teachers back in 1963 who made me so nervous I could barely keep the steering wheel from shaking. Mom took me driving out on a country road north of town, and we ended up in such a huge argument that I stopped the car, got out, and slammed one of my hands in the door. Damn! Not only was my driver’s ego shattered, but the hand hurt like hell.

I got along somewhat better with my driver education teacher, Mr. Hall, once we got past my first lesson and the curb I drove over when making a left-hand turn. Fortunately, there was no fire hydrant in the way. Then, a dog ran out in front of the car and Mr. Hall slammed on his instructor’s brake so hard that we all (two classmates in the backseat included) practically flew out the windshield. “That was a little lesson on what NOT to do.” I didn’t blame him for being a little nervous on the job. The man was putting his life into the hands of 90-some high school freshmen. He deserved battle pay, as far as I was concerned.

The only other run-in we had was when we were driving from Fredonia to Independence and I kept making excuses as to why I couldn’t pass the slow car ahead of us. “I can’t see if it’s clear yet.” “There’s a car coming.” “There’s a hill up ahead.” “We’re coming to a curve.” “I think I see another car coming about 10 miles down the road.” Finally, Mr. Hall got fed up with me.

“If you don’t pass this car, you don’t pass this class!!”

Well, as long as you put it that way….say a prayer and hang on. I still hate passing.

---When Bo got done driving me around P-burg in my car the other day, he thanked me for staying calm. “You’re the first person who hasn’t yelled at me,” he said. I figured considering my own checkered driver’s education past, keeping my big mouth shut was the least I could do.