by Teresa Weimer

Created on: September 08, 2009   Last Updated: September 14, 2009

So there I was on Labor Day sitting in the driver's seat of my father's Toyota Supra holding the steering wheel with nothing less than a Superman death grip. My fists were clenched so tightly around the leather I was giving myself a headache. I could feel the tiny beads of sweat begin to emerge on my forehead as I sat there staring through the windshield wide eyed feeling like I was going to have a panic attack.

"Remember ten and two, ten and two" my dad was saying. I was what you call a white knuckled driver. I had recently turned 17 and just gotten my learner's permit. My dad decided that Labor Day was prime time to teach me and my sister how to drive. I'm not sure what my father expected to gain from the experience aside from turning a lighter shade of pale and needing a new pair of shorts, but the three of us were out for an afternoon of bonding on the high anxiety highway.

My dad began by giving us each a handful of instructions before we were allowed to remove the emergency brake. It reminded me a lot of a flight attendant standing in the front of the airplane cabin with her handy microphone delivering emergency instructions over the loud speaker shortly before takeoff.

[static] "First adjust your seat to the proper position [static] then firmly buckle your seat belt [static]. Make sure to set all of your mirrors properly [static] and don't forget to look in your review mirror before pulling out, remember [static] always look both ways". The last thing I heard was blah, blah, blah before acknowledging with an "over and out captain". What was he talking about? It was like he had memorized a script giving us both the same play by play from his director's chair I always thought was a passenger's seat. Does anyone really pay attention to those flight instructions anyway? I guess you might wish you had if something goes wrong, but I think people just drown them out while they fiddle with their seat or adjust their tray tables. I decided to thumb the radio presets instead until I got my fingers slapped .

I could see my sister in the backseat from the rear view mirror taunting me with her silly faces, sticking her tongue out and giving me the middle finger. I would occasionally get my revenge with a swift jolt after a little experimental braking that would jerk her around in the back. It probably would have irritated my father except I wasn't doing it on purpose. I was far less concerned with details like where the car was going because I was more consumed

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