Plinky asked me, “Describe the first time you drove a vehicle.”
When I was sixteen, I couldn’t wait to get my driver’s license. But, I had to go through my mom first. The wicked woman took me every evening to the state police barracks to practice my raw driving skill.
They had a figure eight configuration and a place where you could practice parallel parking. The problem was that she made me do this in her beast of a Cadillac. How cruel.
She made me back around the figure eight. She made me drive it over and over and over again. I hated her. I hated that stupid boat with wheels. This was just so unfair to make me practice in such a large vehicle. I decided right then I would NEVER own a Cadillac.
On the day of my driver’s test, my mom made me drive my dad’s car. What the hell? I was confused. We took his brand new 1972 Mercedes and I whipped it into the parallel parking spot. I drove the figure 8 like a pro. I even asked him if he wanted me to drive it backwards. I was “Teen-age Driver of the Year” for sure. I passed with flying colors.
My mom didn’t say a word on the way home. She sat there like Cock robin, though. Smug lady.
When we got home, my dad asked if it worked? My mom smiled and said, “Yes, I’m such a smart woman.”
She was. And I finally told her that when my own daughter was learning to drive. Unfortunately, we didn’t have a Cadillac for her to learn to drive in.
We had a van, though. Worked this time too.
