On Learning to Drive, Part 2

We had an old Rambler, but I learned to drive with Mom’s Buick Electra 225. It was a big car and I was not a fan of traffic. Even though I managed to handle the car in Akron traffic, getting my license became less important. I was dating a lot at the time, so I had lots boyfriends who did the driving. There was one dreamboat Dave who drove a baby blue Camaro that matched his baby blue eyes. We ended up best friends rather than boyfriend and girlfriend, but I digress.

My brother ran around with his good friend who drove a Crazy Grape ‘Cuda. There were no ‘cool’ cars in our driveway.

My best friend, Cindy lived only a few houses away had the keys to her mother’s Firebird, so we often went tooling around town on Friday night. Cindy was not a great driver, but I never told my parents that.

Someday I will write the story of my mother’s illness, but not today. In all that chaos, however, I never went to get my license. I joined the Air Force, got married and discharged, gave birth to my daughter, got a divorce, moved to Alaska and eventually remarried. All in the span of seven years. That was a lot of living in a short span of time.

My then husband was in the Air Force. After my son was born, my husband was eventually sent TDY (temporary duty) which found me with two children and no driver’s license. Before he left, I finally – 7 years later – went to take the test for my license. I passed with flying colors.

The first time I would drive alone, was after taking my then husband to the airport. I drove back to the Air Force base alone, with a toddler and a baby in the car. I was scared to death, but somehow things went ok.

A few days later, I loaded my children into their carseats and drove to one of the small Exchange stores on the base. I parked the car away from everyone so getting out of my parking spot would be easier. Imagine my surprise when I walked outside to see a huge motorhome smashed into our car.

It seems the woman driving parked on a bit of a hill and did not engage the parking brake. I am not sure if she left the vehicle in gear, but it had rolled down the hill into my car. Luckily, the motorhome gathered little speed, but it still damaged the car.

I was so naive. I knew nothing about insurance, who to call, what to do about estimates. I called a man who worked with my husband and he came to my aid, suggesting a place to take the car for repairs. Luckily the damage was not bad and the car was drivable.

I hardly recognize that young woman who was me. Dependent, vulnerable and too soft spoken. It is odd to look back and see ourselves in reflection. I have a fondness for that 25 year old young girl, but I’m glad she grew up and found her voice.

In the years to come, I would become a road warrior, taking many road trips between Maine and Virginia and between Florida and the Carolinas. I have had my share of unfortunate events while on the road, but I managed to work through them without much commotion. Lessons learned, I guess.

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