I recommend wise consideration before asking someone to teach you to drive. The teacher-student dynamic is a delicate one.
My first driving teacher was my mom. Once I got my driving permit, she volunteered to take me out for my first drive. The problem with this set up was that both she and I tend toward the emotional and high-strung. As we drove along the 30 mph road near our house, I could feel her tense up. I turned the indicator light on, preparing to turn left. There was a car in the opposite lane, but I judged it far away enough to make the left turn. “Watch out!” my mother exclaimed from the passenger’s seat, while shoving her foot down on an imaginary brake pedal. I shouted at her to calm down and quit stressing me out.
After that, we determined that my dad would be better suited to be my driving coach. And he was. His calm, collected demeanor was just what I needed. He explained the mechanics of driving, and trusted me to learn through trial and error. His demeanor was so even-keeled that it startled me when he burst out, “Hey, cow!” Yup, there were cows grazing in the pasture near the road, and my dad was greeting them.
Years later, I needing a new round of driving lessons to learn to drive a stick shift car. Steve and I were newly married. My rickety blue Honda was on its last bit of breath, and I had to learn to drive Steve’s manual car. After about 30 minutes of instruction and driving, both of us were frustrated with each other, and we mutually decided it would be bad for our marriage to continue. Wisdom is knowing when to change the plan.
I ended up getting my friend Candiss to be my new stick shift car driving instructor. Our pairing was just right. Two driving lessons on the top level of a Los Angeles parking lot, and I was able to drive with confidence.
I’m grateful for my various driving instructors, but more grateful that no friendships or marriages were ruined in the process.
My first driving teacher was my mom. Once I got my driving permit, she volunteered to take me out for my first drive. The problem with this set up was that both she and I tend toward the emotional and high-strung. As we drove along the 30 mph road near our house, I could feel her tense up. I turned the indicator light on, preparing to turn left. There was a car in the opposite lane, but I judged it far away enough to make the left turn. “Watch out!” my mother exclaimed from the passenger’s seat, while shoving her foot down on an imaginary brake pedal. I shouted at her to calm down and quit stressing me out.
After that, we determined that my dad would be better suited to be my driving coach. And he was. His calm, collected demeanor was just what I needed. He explained the mechanics of driving, and trusted me to learn through trial and error. His demeanor was so even-keeled that it startled me when he burst out, “Hey, cow!” Yup, there were cows grazing in the pasture near the road, and my dad was greeting them.
Years later, I needing a new round of driving lessons to learn to drive a stick shift car. Steve and I were newly married. My rickety blue Honda was on its last bit of breath, and I had to learn to drive Steve’s manual car. After about 30 minutes of instruction and driving, both of us were frustrated with each other, and we mutually decided it would be bad for our marriage to continue. Wisdom is knowing when to change the plan.
I ended up getting my friend Candiss to be my new stick shift car driving instructor. Our pairing was just right. Two driving lessons on the top level of a Los Angeles parking lot, and I was able to drive with confidence.
I’m grateful for my various driving instructors, but more grateful that no friendships or marriages were ruined in the process.
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