The pleasures and perils of learning to drive
Michelline Nawatises
Learning to drive has to be one of the most exciting milestones in one’s life. You turn 16 and suddenly feel ready to get behind the wheel and jet off around your neighbourhood, so proud of your new abilities.
You force and beg your parents to whisk you off to the NATIS-Roads Authority, to write your test and all of a sudden you have the power of the road. The first practice stop is the back parking lot of a big building: Target or the waterworks will do. You place yourself in the driver’s seat, stick the keys in the ignition and press down your first burst of gas to feel the car almost fly out from underneath you.
You realise that maybe this will take a bit more getting used to than you had expected.
My first experience driving was last year around the sixth month with my beloved father.
We drove up to a big, open parking lot, switched positions, and finally it was time to take the wheel. I remember the look of terror in his eyes and the holler of “slow down!” bouncing off the windows as I floored it across the yellow painted lines, weaving back and forth.
My father decided to throw the changing lanes lesson at me and I went for it.
“Check your left mirror and blind spot then smoothly merge over and now look at the pedals,” he said.
I did, and I was immediately aghast and I said "But dad there is three pedals! I do not have three feet, he laughed hysterically.
"Gas, clutch, brakes. You'll be fine," Graeme reassured me. "Now, left foot on the clutch - all the way down - then set the gas with your right," he further instructed me.
I stepped on the pedal and the car made a lovely roaring noise. This was more like it!
"Now, let the clutch up gradually..." the instructor (dad) continued. The car shot forward and I got a fright and let go of the steering wheel.
"I cannot stop!" I squealed, not in the least worried as we careened towards disaster. The phrase, "An accident waiting to happen" flashed through my mind, but in an amused way rather than an alarmed one. Thank goodness for dad pulling the handbrake.
These experiences and trial of driving and terror teaches me to be a cautious, courteous, and a responsible driver respecting others on the road and my dad’s wisdom. No matter what you learn in class, nothing compares to the experience of really being out there on the road.
My roadworthy female cousins would talk of the "freedom" that being able to drive gave a girl - but when you have as much freedom as I have, being dependent in one small part of life is a delightful novelty.
My cousin once told me "there are two types of people in life - the drivers and the driven." So when I was asked to do something normal that I have never done before, what came to mind with the awful inevitability of a traffic jam in rush hour was "drive a car".
Learning to drive has to be one of the most exciting milestones in one’s life. You turn 16 and suddenly feel ready to get behind the wheel and jet off around your neighbourhood, so proud of your new abilities.
You force and beg your parents to whisk you off to the NATIS-Roads Authority, to write your test and all of a sudden you have the power of the road. The first practice stop is the back parking lot of a big building: Target or the waterworks will do. You place yourself in the driver’s seat, stick the keys in the ignition and press down your first burst of gas to feel the car almost fly out from underneath you.
You realise that maybe this will take a bit more getting used to than you had expected.
My first experience driving was last year around the sixth month with my beloved father.
We drove up to a big, open parking lot, switched positions, and finally it was time to take the wheel. I remember the look of terror in his eyes and the holler of “slow down!” bouncing off the windows as I floored it across the yellow painted lines, weaving back and forth.
My father decided to throw the changing lanes lesson at me and I went for it.
“Check your left mirror and blind spot then smoothly merge over and now look at the pedals,” he said.
I did, and I was immediately aghast and I said "But dad there is three pedals! I do not have three feet, he laughed hysterically.
"Gas, clutch, brakes. You'll be fine," Graeme reassured me. "Now, left foot on the clutch - all the way down - then set the gas with your right," he further instructed me.
I stepped on the pedal and the car made a lovely roaring noise. This was more like it!
"Now, let the clutch up gradually..." the instructor (dad) continued. The car shot forward and I got a fright and let go of the steering wheel.
"I cannot stop!" I squealed, not in the least worried as we careened towards disaster. The phrase, "An accident waiting to happen" flashed through my mind, but in an amused way rather than an alarmed one. Thank goodness for dad pulling the handbrake.
These experiences and trial of driving and terror teaches me to be a cautious, courteous, and a responsible driver respecting others on the road and my dad’s wisdom. No matter what you learn in class, nothing compares to the experience of really being out there on the road.
My roadworthy female cousins would talk of the "freedom" that being able to drive gave a girl - but when you have as much freedom as I have, being dependent in one small part of life is a delightful novelty.
My cousin once told me "there are two types of people in life - the drivers and the driven." So when I was asked to do something normal that I have never done before, what came to mind with the awful inevitability of a traffic jam in rush hour was "drive a car".
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