Learning to drive was not an easy accomplishment for me, but at the age of 16 nothing comes easy, it seems. It was 1972 and my dad had just bought another set of wheels. The car wasn't for me, by any means. In those days a teen who'd be provided with their own car were few and far between. We were lucky if we were allowed to drive at all and it was a big deal to own more than one vehicle per family, so the second hand chevy sedan was a sign of the changing times and the fact that dad's business was doing well. Besides, it was time for me to learn to drive and my mom wouldn't dream of allowing me to be anywhere near her Cadillac. In light of that fact, the 1966 Chevy would be my dad's ride to work and the tool he'd use to teach me the fine art of driving.
As I reflect on that time of my life, I'm reminded of something Erma Bombeck once said. "Never loan your car to anyone for whom you've given birth." Today I know what she means, but apparently, my parents had never heard of Erma Bombeck in the 70s, much less what she said. Otherwise, they might have taken her advice. You see, teens are strange human beings and I've never met a soul who doesn't agree with me, so teaching a teen to drive will be the most insane thing any parent will ever try to do. It's true. That's why I believe a teen should work to earn the right to drive, but only when they can buy their own set of wheels, which should cost no more than enough to be worth a piece of junk. The reason I feel this way is because of my experience and due to the fact that there is no such thing as a teen who is mature enough to know the value of a automobile.
In fact when I got my college degree, I took several courses in psychology, and according to the definition of insanity, all teenagers are as crazy as they can be. The truth is that they're only insane, normally, but I've decided to describe the teenager as one who is temporarily trapped within a normally insane frame of mind. Still, in spite of that fact, our society believes that by the time a human being becomes a teen of 16, that's when we teach them to drive. If you don't know why this is an issue, just ask my parents and I'm sure they'll tell you.
Do you remember those days when you were insane? I do, and even at my age. After all, how could I forget? My mom still reminds me every chance she gets. At the time, I didn't feel insane, but then again, how many crazy people do? I just went along with time as if what I said or did made any sense. That's why I don't know who was more insane, me or my parents?
Mom once said to me, "I hope you have a daughter someday, and I hope when you do, she's just like you." At the time, I took it as a compliment. Then, when I raised a daughter of my own, I understood mom's wish for me was not at all complimentary. She wanted revenge, but when I look back at myself as a teen and remember the thoughts that went through my mind, it's natural for me to defend the adolescent child. Teens are babies in disguise, with adult size bodies and childish minds. Their brains are still developing, so maybe we expect too much from the child who's insane, normally. The truth is that teens aren't even human, and until they mature, they are more like hormonal humanoids. Today I can relate to how my parents felt when they tried to raise me, the 70's teen, and teach me to drive of all things.
The self-absorbed girl I used to be wasn't trying to drive her parents nuts, or maybe I was. I'm not sure. All I know is that everyone in the USA seemed to be rebelling against something, but my parents didn't have time to worry about the fight for civil rights. They were too busy raising me in the midst of normal insanity. A phrase I used at the time comes to my mind. "I'm trying to find myself." My mom probably believed that I was high on LSD. Honestly, I never used drugs, but I'm sure it appeared that I was. I was never high, and I was a perfectly normal teen, or as normal as a teen can be. Still, I digress I guess.
The story I'm about to tell about myself will describe the teenage mind perfectly and not just the 70's teen that I used to be. The story is still as insane today as it was then and the facts remain the same. It's still insane for a teen to drive. Understanding this today, I can honestly say that my parents had the patience of saints. It's also why you'll never hear me say, "When I was your age. . ." Fill in the blank. It takes tremendous courage to teach a teen how to drive, but you have to be a bit naive to survive . Since my dad spent long hours away at work, he had no clue of what was going on in our home. My mother was left to deal with me in the house of normal insanity. In light of this fact, when I turned sixteen and someone needed to teach me to drive, my mother gave the job to my dad. That fact was due to one of two things. Dad had more courage than mom, or maybe he didn't know just how crazy I actually was.
We began with the basics, where dad explained that I'd need to start out slow and easy. I did, but dad still bumped his head on the wind-shield every time I slammed on the brakes or made the mistake of jumping a curb. At the time, no one wore seat belts, so on those rare occasions when the whole family would be at the mercy of me behind the wheel, my kid sister would scream frightfully in the back seat while mom held her breath when she wasn't screaming at dad, "Please, teach her to drive without me." I'd roll my eyes and sigh, like all teens do who don't have a clue how dangerous it can be to drive a two ton machine.
Even in 1972, everyone knew it would never be wise to drink and drive, but every time dad allowed me to drive, he'd take a shot of scotch just to find the peace of mind to sit in the passenger's seat. Still, because my dad was as patient as a saint and by some kind of amazing grace, I received my driver's licence by the time my sixteenth birthday arrived. My sister and my mom were surprised, but I was ready to have the time of my life. At the ripe old age of sixteen, I'd finally be free and be able to go where I pleased.
Dad allowed me to drive his car to school, but only if I took him to work and followed the rules. The car wasn't exactly, "cool," but if I packed everyone in, I could drive around town with all my friends. Besides, the car was big and heavy, so every morning, I'd drag my teenage body to the garage, still half asleep and in my pajamas. Dad would be waiting patiently for me, sipping from his cup of coffee. As great as it was to drive independently, I got tired of the same old routine.
Now and then I'd say to myself, "This is ridiculous." Why did Dad make me get up so early? Beyond the early hour, dad's coffee would always spill along the way. It happened every day, and it made no sense to me that he'd only drink a few sips, and once I dropped him off at his job, he'd leave me to clean up the mess from his overly filled coffee cup which he always left on the dash. I'd have to go back home to get ready for school and didn't have time to deal with the spill, so one day I rebelliously made up my mind that I'd refuse to take his coffee cup inside. I'd leave it right where it sat on the dash. "I'll show dad," I said to myself.
Today, I'm unaware of why I left it there, but at the time it seemed perfectly logical in my teenage mind. It seemed so unreasonable to me, and it appeared to me that dad was acting as if he were "A Male Chauvinist Pig." Defiantly, I proclaimed, "It's the 70's, for heaven's sake." As a woman, I decided to fight for equal rights and refused take his cup inside. With the words of a poplar song in my mind, "I am woman, so hear me roar," I slammed the door when I went inside.
It would seem that my defiance was reasonably intense, but the truth of the matter is that I had a short attention span. By the time I got dressed for school and came back out to the car, I'd forgotten all about that coffee cup. Instead, I was concentrating on more important things, like my makeup. In the rear view mirror, I checked to see if my lipstick was straight, while simultaneously throwing the car in reverse. As I backed out of the driveway, dad's coffee cup tipped and spilled all over my dress.
Shocked at the mess all over my dress, I slammed on the brakes, but it was too late. I'd smashed into my mother's car with amazing force, and although it may be common for a teen to have a first accident on a highway, I wrecked both of my parents cars without leaving the driveway.
No matter how many times I switched gears, my parents cars were hopelessly stuck and the worst part was that my tears had smeared my makeup, so I did what any teenage girl would do, and sat there sobbing like a fool. All I knew is the fact that my dress was a mess and I was late for school, so when mom came outside to see what the commotion was about, that's when I insanely shouted out, "Look what Dad made me do!"