Look Out, Here I Come

Third time's the charm, as the saying goes.  I sure hope so.  I am beginning my third attempt at getting a driver's license.  Previously, I gave up before scheduling the road test.  This time, it's do or die.  Or do and die, possibly.

The first time I took driving lessons, I was 18.  I wasn't motivated personally, but my parents thought it was time.  They sent me to Young Drivers of Canada, supposedly the best program available.  I aced the in-class segments, but I was not a natural behind the wheel.  The difficulty of the weekly lessons progressed far too quickly for me.  I got overwhelmed and flustered, and consequently made disastrous decisions, such as turning left with barely enough time to clear oncoming traffic.  During the freeway driving lessons, in heavy, fast-moving traffic, my instructor told me to change lanes.  I forgot to check my blind spot.  He wrenched the wheel from my hands just as I was about to drive straight into a two-storey-high, bright yellow street sweeping truck that I had not noticed looming up directly outside my window.  I would return from my driving lessons drenched in sweat, needing a full change of clothes and a lie-down to recuperate from the stress.

The second time I took driving lessons, I was 26.  I had been hired to do a sales job.  My territory was the entire province of Ontario.  For five months I toured the Golden Horseshoe area on a dozen different public transit systems.  I carried a packet of maps and bus schedules in my briefcase.  My office was a little suitcase on wheels.  It was not ideal.  This time I had a reason to get my license.

At the time I was married, but my first husband did not drive.  I relied on a variety of relatives (mom, dad, aunt) to take me for practice drives.  I made my mom and my aunt very nervous.  Used to the view from the passenger seat, I always drove too close to the right-hand side of the road.  They would soothingly murmur "You're a little close to the parked cars" as I came within a hair's breadth of smashing a row of rear view mirrors.  I would correct more to the centre of the road, and then slowly but surely drift back to the right.

My father is not easily made nervous, but I do believe that I manage to rattle him the time he was teaching me to parallel park.  I had the car maneuvered into the space, and centred perfectly.  Triumphantly, I stomped on the brake.  Except I had confused the brake with the gas pedal.  I rammed that car into the car ahead, with a crash that got the neighbours out on their front porches to see what had happened.  Was it you or me who said "That's what bumpers are for!" as we fled the scene?

I quit the sales job before I got around to taking the road test.  I figured I would be doing society a favour by staying off the roads.  I don't mind walking or taking public transit, plus being a pedestrian saves me from having to buy a gym membership.

However, this summer my perspective changed.  I realized that if Ken got sick, I would not be able to drive him to doctors' appointments.  Ditto for my parents.  It's not just about me anymore.  I have responsibilities to other people.  So, at 39, I am making my third attempt at learning to drive.

This time is different.  First of all, I have Ken, an excellent driver, to give me lessons.  Secondly, I'm more motivated than I have been at any time in the past.  It will be a labour of love.  And lastly, but certainly not leastly, I am on anti-anxiety medication this time around, just enough, hopefully, to keep me calm under pressure.

So far all I have done is study the Ontario Drivers' Guide in order to prepare for the test to get my learner's permit.  It's chock full of essential driving facts, like This is a Stop Sign.  When you see it, stop.  I'll get around to writing that test soon, and then we'll have some in-car fun.