If You Don't Like the Way I Drive . . .

When I was younger—never mind by how much—I wasn’t known for my stellar driving skills.  In fact, it’s a wonder that anyone was willing to actually get in a car with me behind the wheel.  But I suppose, given the lack of any safer alternatives (read: other available teenage drivers), they really didn’t have much of a choice, did they?

I recall one morning having spent the night at my friend Heather’s house, we were on the freeway heading to school and I misjudged my vehicle’s ability to pass the semi on the left and make it back over to our exit on the right.  It’s a good thing the truck driver was paying attention.  And that Heather had a pretty good sense of humor.  Her mom must have been praying really hard at that moment!  There was another time I took out a deer on one of the winding backroads I preferred to the freeway (fewer drivers to hit, maybe?)  My car was forever affectionately known as The Deer Slayer from that moment on. 

One driving memory I try to forget unsuccessfully involves Heather again, in the passenger’s seat, mumbling her usual mantra, “Please don’t hit the curb.  Please don’t hit the curb.  Pleasedonthitthecurb!!” to no avail.  Smack.  I hit the curb and her head hit the window.  I’m amazed that not only is Heather still healthy and alive but that she still speaks to me!  (Thanks, Heather!)  

Then there was the time I successfully wrapped my future sister-in-law’s car around a telephone pole on an icy road.  It would only be a matter of time before someone would have a little talk with me about my driving.  And Heather’s mom came to the rescue.  She proudly presented me with a pin to wear on my future husband’s letter jacket.  It said, “If you don’t like the way I drive . . . stay off the sidewalk!”  Had Heather TOLD her?  Or was it more a mother’s intuition?  I’ll never know. But I realized my secret was out and I had better start figuring out this driving thing.

I was thinking recently about sidewalks and what kinds of metaphors can be drawn from their purpose and existence.  Deep—I know.  But really, they signify safety and organization.  They’re supposed to be an avenue where pedestrians can stroll unharmed at a leisurely pace.  But what good is a sidewalk with someone like me behind the wheel?  I think it may be time to return my “sidewalk” button.  Something happened shortly after the icy road/telephone pole incident—I somehow became a better driver.  Maybe I had just lacked the respect for the dangerous possibilities that arise any time a vehicle shifts into gear.  Maybe I lacked the maturity or instincts to respond appropriately to the conditions in which I was driving.  Regardless, I no longer wear the pin!  Even though I had a close call yesterday, I can proudly say that no deer has since been slain, no curbs have since been mauled, no friends have since almost met their fate as a result of me being behind the wheel.  So Patty, where can I send that pin back to you?  Or should I just save it for one of my kids?
(I wear a pink breast cancer ribbon for you instead.)