Wheels. Not just any wheels, four of them. When that magic time of life stepped forward, learner’s permit clutched tightly in my hand, I was ready to fly on the first cylindrical object which would help me to move easily, more like anywhere, over the ground. I even sacrificed an entire summer, taking driver’s ed in a stuffy car crammed with three other hopefuls and a tormented teacher with his hand on dual controls and a rosary hidden somewhere. Or alcohol.
Of course, like many young people, I had already experienced driving, sans the legal paperwork, thanks to a boyfriend with a truck, standard shift at that. Carefully rolling down a few side streets was nothing less than exhilarating, except for a few stalls and gear grinding now and then. Don’t judge. It was a learning process which helped pave the way to an escape plan and the pathway to finally getting that golden ticket, my driver’s license.
After that, the desire to hit any open road was a constant. No amount of pleading directed at my parental units resulted in my being allowed to drive one of their two vehicles. Trust me, I did the patronizing offering to run errands on their behalf and drive old ladies to church on Sundays. I even washed and cleaned both family trucksters, hoping that keys giving me even one hour of driving solo would be bestowed. That never happened unless one parent came along, commandeered music on the car radio and periodically yelled that I was driving too fast or missed a stop sign. Even at the ripe old age of seventeen, the embarrassment of driving through town with one parent riding shotgun and being seen by friends was almost traumatic. Given that, most parental insistent copilot opportunities were given a pass.
All in all, those times were happy in that they opened the door to the freedoms we so longed for during those awkward years of lingering between childhood and getting our feet planted in adulthood. Little did we realize, as we gingerly climbed behind the wheel and headed off to anywhere but where we were, that some of the best years of our lives would be behind us in the rearview mirror.
I chose to combine this prompt with an earlier one about “when you learned to drive”. Both, important experiences with a blend of both happy and sometimes traumatic.
