equipped them to handle the road. I reassured my mom that I would be the valedictorian of my Drivers’ Ed class.
Short drives though our quiet neighborhood were the standard outing for the first few days. I realized we were in trouble when pulling out of the driveway in reverse meant four-wheeling across the front yard. One’s own neighborhood was really an obstacle course for novice drivers. The mailboxes of our unsuspecting neighbors turned easy targets. Handling two-way traffic was stomach-turning and potentially deadly, even on our tranquil neighborhood streets. Upon returning from these short outings, parking in the garage was beyond the skills of these student drivers. Mom returned to the wheel, thankfully, to end each session.
Venturing beyond the relative safety of our neighborhood would prove to be even more stressful and exasperating. Again, overcompensating to avoid oncoming traffic put us perilously close to telephone poles, street signs, and sidewalks. Apparently, watching the speedometer was mutually exclusive with watching the road. The tunnel, which instructor mom said was a mandatory experience, was traumatic for both drivers and passengers. The compulsory drive over the Key Bridge tested both composure and courage. Merging onto the beltway at a high rate of speed was daunting for all concerned, including other drivers. Blind spots… what are blind spots? Clearly, mastery would take much more practice.
Thus, the driver and the passengers made it through these harrowing adventures unscathed. Emotionally, though, we were wasted. My undertakings of this experience will be approached with much more maturity and wisdom.
Still don’t know what to do behind the wheel.
Definitely know what not to do.
8
LOYOLA
BLAKEFIELD
LITARTMAG
2014