15 year milestone

I was the 15 year old telling my mother how to improve her driving though I had never been behind the wheel. I studied her feet, how she balanced the needs of the gas pedal and the clutch with each shift. I told her with great and annoying authority how she could master a smooth transition from 1st to 2nd. I couldn’t seem to shut up because I KNEW her driving could improve and since I was now in the know (my dad had been giving me pointers and descriptions of how to), well, good thing she was open and patient.
In Drivers Ed we spent long boring periods reading glossy paged books, sitting in sterile simulators with bad audio in a cold class room, listening to the teacher go on and on and on. From my classroom I could see the parking lot across the street, full of orange cones, ready for the new young driver to practice before braving the streets.
Then one day, we were allowed behind the wheel. First of course, we had to spend just a bit less boring class times weaving cones. But soon enough I flipped the turn signal, looked both ways, looked again, then turned onto Dodge with a tense and sighing instructor at my right.
Two events stand out in my learning to drive experience. One of them is a brief and terrifying moment in the car with my instructor as I merged onto a busy I-94West. After signaling, I looked behind in to the lane I was merging onto, as well as the rear view mirror, then I merged successfully. BUT, my instructor, who I had heard didn’t even drive himself but rode his bike everywhere, screamed at me that I hadn’t looked behind me, and what was I thinking and that is so dangerous and blah!!!!!!! It didn’t take much reflection for me to conclude this was a dangerous reaction! So, that was that. One practice merge per class.
The second involves my patient mother who believed my intelligence about smooth driving with a manual transmission existed in my body as well as my mind. Once I had permit in hand, down we go to the car, ready to set out on some errand and with a proud and happy smile, my mom tosses me the keys. I don’t remember whether my inability to drive a stick shift in actuality showed itself when I jerked down Greenleaf Ave a couple blocks or if I admitted my ignorance right off. Surely she remembers and will let me know after reading this.
It all worked out soon. My dad took me to Robert Crown’s parking lot after hours, suffered through a series of jerks, stalls and fancy noises and eventually felt I was knowledgeable enough to drive around the block.
I got my drivers license at the first possible moment, having to go to two facilities in one day because I forgot to put my seat belt on so failed my first test. The second tester tapped out a happy tune on the roof of the car. Very nice :).
I definitely preferred manual to automatic and still do. The challenge of shifting smoothly was fun and engaging. As Dory said when I took her out one afternoon to learn to drive a stick, “It feels like I’m driving a race car!”
And I never have stopped telling my mother how to drive…