Learning to drive
I can't remember how many weeks it was, but I do remember
learning to drive. Mr. Spence was a very nice, patient and kind man. I seem to
recall that he drove an AMC Pacer or as we called it a greenhouse on wheels.
He'd parked it across the street while we hopped into my mother's
seventy-three, three toned (tan, brown and rust) Ford Maverick. It had a
302 engine and was rear wheel drive. It was a small car with too much power and
spinning out on snow covered road was easy to do.
My instructor said, "if you can learn how to drive in
the dead of winter you can drive in any weather" He was right. We
had it all: rain, snow and sleet. Every drive was an adventure. I learned to
drive doing chin ups on the steering wheel. Luckily, my legs were just long
enough to handle the pedals. After a few weeks of obeying signs, three point
turns and parallel parking, I was ready for the exam. I paid my dues and
thanked my instructor. I was ready. It was go time.
The driver's examination location at the time was on
Wyandotte near Walker Road. I was warned that they were hard on young drivers.
My only other options were Tilbury or Chatham. I was told that Windsor didn't
give licenses to boys on the first try but I took my chances.
I waited in the parking lot until some guy with thick black
glasses and a clipboard came out. "Are you Dennis?" I gulped
nervously. "Yes Sir" He got into the Maverick. I was glad I could use
my mother's car. I was getting used to driving it. We drove around for while.
My white-knuckle clinging for life hid my sweaty palms. We were driving down
Giles Boulevard and things were going great until he said "parallel
park" I had already nailed the three-point turn. The pressure was on. It's
not like I didn't practice but it sure looked like it on this day. After
several failed attempts we headed back. In my mind I knew I was going to flunk
the test. When we pulled into the drive test parking lot he was adding up the
results. I prepared myself for bad news. He signed his name on the bottom, ripped
the page from the clipboard handed it to me and spoke. "If I were you, I’d
park in the parking lot, Congratulations"
I now had a driver's license, five dollars, freedom and a
mother who trusted me enough with her car. The five dollars would get me a
quarter tank of gas. I had just fueled up at Beavers gas station on the corner
of Rivard and Tecumseh Rd and I was on my way. The eight-track belted out
Queens "Night at the opera” I had just passed by Jefferson. It was my
first day driving. What a great feeling. Suddenly behind me I saw flashing
lights and heard a siren, so I did what you do, I pulled to the right and stop
to let him pass. Only he wasn't passing, he was parking. Parking, that is
stopping, behind my car. What was I doing wrong? My heart sank into my
stomach. There was only one reason for him stopping me. I suppose seeing some
kid driving a car with his hands at ten and two and his nose at twelve might
looks kind of suspicious.
He walked up and knocked on the window. My sweaty hands
cranked the handle. "Is this your car?" He barked. "No
Sir, it's my mother's" "Do you have a license?" I think he was
surprised when I handed it to him. "I just got it today" I said. He
went back to his car and sat there a few minutes and after not finding anything
wrong, searched for a just cause for pulling me over. He looked at the car told
me to fix the body, or I would get ticket for the safety lane. I agreed. I knew
that wasn't why he really pulled me over, but I smart enough to let it go.
Later that week the Maverick went through a
transformation. Now it was three toned Maverick with a hint of bondo, fiberglass and primer.
Comments
Post a Comment