When I was a teenager, turning 15 meant a summer of learning how to drive a car. Yes, they had already invented cars way back then. Some places called it Drivers Education and some called it Drivers Training. I don’t even think it was optional whether to take it. Here’s how it worked.
The “trainers” were almost always school teachers who could earn a little extra money by placing their lives in the hands of rookie teenage drivers for six weeks. Four students would get into a car with a big sign on top that clearly said STUDENT DRIVER. People who already knew how to drive usually gave us a wide birth. A wise choice, I might add. One of us would get behind the wheel while the teacher rode in the passenger seat. For some reason, his side of the car also had a brake pedal. Go figure.
The very first day, after pointing out all the dials, pedals, etc., he would make us drive in downtown Grand Rapids. This scared us half to death because it meant lots of cars, stoplights, noises and crosswalks. People in crosswalks always sped up when they saw us coming or waited until we were nowhere in sight. You would think they would have some faith in 15-year-olds on their first day of driving. After we all took turns giving our instructor gray hairs, we would come back to the school parking lot, go inside and learn rules of the road and take tests. They would also show the occasional movie where teenagers had crashed cars, killing themselves and others. Some of these were unnecessarily graphic, but I guess they made their point since I still remember some scenes.
My team never hit anyone and I seem to recall we all passed. That meant we could get our learner’s permit and drive our parents crazy for a year. I was the youngest of three kids in our family, so my parents were already experienced in this rite of passage. Here is how my “homeschooling” of driving unfolded.
I was 14 and on a dirt country road with my dad. The road was very straight and I understand why. My dad put the car in park, turned it off and handed the keys to me. Sitting on a phone book, I went to start the car and he said, “Not so fast.” Next, he said, “You are about to be in charge of 4,000 pounds of steel traveling down a road at up to 70 mph. Others will be on the same road. Are you ready for the responsibility?”
Gulp. Sweat may have appeared on my brow. For the record, it is harder to steer on a gravel dirt road than a paved road. I may have swerved a little. Good thing we never saw another car. My dad chose this road for a reason. When it came time for Drivers Ed class the next year, I was already pretty competent. I hope they still teach the concept of driving defensively. In other words, good drivers are often killed by bad drivers. Keep your head on a swivel when driving. My dad even had a poem he taught each of us about driving defensively.
Here lies the body of William Gray.
He died maintaining the right of way.
He was right, dead right, as he rolled along.
But, he’s just as dead as if he’d been wrong.
When my 16th birthday came along, I went to the DMV to do my test drive and take the written exam. I aced the exam, not so much the test drive. The DMV was next to an alley. You pulled into the alley to park in back. I did great driving around the area, including a three-point turn and parallel parking. The alley, which was really skinny, proved a challenge. I turned into it, oversteered to the right and kind of hit the DMV building with my dad’s Oldsmobile. The officer looked at me, looked down while rubbing his eyes and said, “Just park in back.” I thought he might be considering a change of career at that point, but he actually passed me and said something like, “Try not to hit any more buildings.”
Kids these days are waiting longer to get their licenses. In my case, another year or two of brain development would not have been a bad thing. This delay does mean that mom and dad continue to chauffeur longer. A positive is that they probably sleep better at night knowing their 16-year-old is not out and about with the family car running into brick DMV buildings.
P.S. If you don’t like the way I drive, stay off the sidewalk.
