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At breakfast, my parents handed me the keys to a 1959 Opel Cadet Station Wagon. "Happy Birthday, sweet sixteen", they sang. I guess I knew that it was a manual transmission but honestly, who cared? It was a small thought in a very big day. I had the most beautiful turquoise blue car and the world had just opened up to me. It no longer mattered that it was my dad's old car. It was my car and the beach loomed on the horizon.

After school, we went to the DMV to get my license. The test was a breeze and I was smug when I walked out with my freshly printed license. After all, I had been practicing with the 1967 Ford Custom and I had passed my required driver's training with flying colors.

The Opel needed a tune-up and was at the car dealer. We drove there in the late afternoon and I got into the car for the first time. The small thought at breakfast about it being a manual transmission rushed back to me as a big problem. I had never driven a car that was not an automatic. When I voiced my concern, my parents told me that if I wanted the car, I would have to get it home. I was feeling a little less smug.

OK, I panicked "I can't drive this!" I cried. Then, I thought, "How hard can it be." I understood the concept of clutch in, change gears. After all, they were only pedals. My parents decided my younger brother (still a know-it-all) who knew about cars could ride with me. With that, they got into the Ford and headed for home.

To this day, I'm not sure how we made it out of the driveway much less into the street. I know that it stalled several times and there were moments of jerking that traveled all the way down my spine. Once we got going it wasn't so bad and I managed to shift it into gear. Stopping was alright too with my brother telling me to push the clutch in and put my foot on the brake. "Piece of cake", I thought. We'd made it one block to the first light. Starting again, with the stalling and the head jerking but it was slightly less. I planned my route home. There were no freeways then and I probably wouldn't have taken them anyway since I never went over 30 mph.

We were doing better and I was feeling pretty comfortable. What I didn't take into consideration was that between the car dealer and our house were hills. Unless you are skilled in holding the clutch in part way and pushing on the gas to keep the car running and in one spot, a hill can be a very big challenge. "How big", you ask? Believe me; you would not have wanted to be the person behind me when I realized that it was a skill I did not possess.

My brother says, "Take your foot off the brake and give the car some gas. No, don't" The rest is lost when the car stalls. Another challenge is starting a stalled car on a hill. There was no one behind me so I let it roll all the way to the bottom to start it on level ground.

It was a 20 mile trip from the dealer to home. I remember that it took 3 hours to get there and it was dark. I hated my brother. By the time we made it home, I could drive the car and had learned a valuable lesson. I no longer ignore the small thoughts.

Learn more about this author, Ann Hinds.
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