by Shawna Blake

Created on: March 13, 2009   Last Updated: March 11, 2011

I was about 14 when Granny started 'letting' me drive a few blocks to the local convenience store and back. Of course, she was with me, and coaching me the entire time. Ironically enough, granny was probably the least qualified to teach anyone to drive. I think it was safer that I was driving rather than she. I had gotten quite good at it, and it was kept pretty secret between Granny and I, because my father would likely have lost his mind if he knew I was driving anywhere with anyone at that age. But we kept it going for at least a year, perhaps two. In that time, I learned much of what one needed to know to be an excellent driver. I learned from experience, which is truly the very best way to learn anything; by doing it.

I can laugh about it now, but 17 years ago, while on one of our nightly drives, I got one of the biggest frights of my life. We had taken our dog down to run at the creek (two blocks away) and Granny let me drive home, per the usual. I must mention that Granny is a petite woman with a thick southern accent from the moantains of Tennessee. She is little, feisty, sweet and lovable. But she is not very mechanically inclined. So, she isn't exactly helpful if a problem arises with a car failing or acting up. When we drove home from the creek, Granny sat in between myself (who was driving) and my best-friend Becky. All was smooth sailing in the big old banana boat-until we got home.

I pulled into Granny's long driveway as smooth as you please (because, after all, I was a skilled little driver by now...) and turned left to park the car behind the house. I tapped the brakes to stop and the car lurched forward, with no signs of stopping. I pounded on the brake to keep from plastering us and our car onto the brick of the building next door. Fortunately, there was a stack of old tires between us and the brown building that may have been the last thing that I ever saw in my life...

Granny kept repeating loudly "Hit the brakes! Hit the brakes!" while the car squealed and the tires burned. I frantically pounded on the brake with my right foot over and over in a vain attempt to get the car to stop before it actually hit the building in front of me. Becky was holding on tightly to anything within her reach, frozen at the thought of such a young death, while I nearly panicked. I yelled back to Granny "I am hitting the brake! I am!" And I was hitting the brake. Granny kept yelling while I kept stepping on the brake and my hands clenched the steering wheel for dear life.

Becky and I had resigned ourselves to death, while Granny was horrified that her car might be broken. My young mind could not wrap around the reason that the car was not stopping like it should have. I looked at my foot to ensure that I was truly hitting the brake like I was certain that I was, and what did I see but Granny's left foot on the gas pedal! While I was hitting the brake, my Granny was hitting the gas pedal without even knowing it! About the same time, Granny noticed her faux pas and pulled her foot from the pedal stating "Oh, sorry about that," just as calm as you please. Becky and I climbed numbly from the car, hoping that our bodies were intact while our minds certainly were not. We were just glad to be alive. Needless to say, Granny was never allowed to sit in the middle again.

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