Driving Lessons

When my granddaughter came to visit from Florida recently, she decided she was ready for driving lessons. In Florida, she can get a learner’s permit and drive with a licensed driver at 15. Lucy will be 15 right after Thanksgiving.

My husband, Mick, is the most patient person in the world and is an ideal teacher. Luckily, we live on a secluded circle with few cars and little traffic. Here, Lucy practiced parking, steering, three-point turns and reversing. Her friends in Florida were jealous of her driving lessons.

The week after Lucy left, her cousin Cullen, also 14, visited from California. More driving lessons were in order. Cullen was a competent and secure driver by the end of the week after practicing his new skills.

I took my driver’s test in Philadelphia three times before I finally passed on the third attempt. I lived in South Philly and took the subway every day to Girls’ High in North Philly. I didn’t have an urgency to drive with public transportation available.

I remember “borrowing” my cousin Johnny’s car, playing hooky from school with my best friend, Liz. We were on a mission to scope out the guys at Villanova. The guys were all in the library or in class, so we didn’t successfully meet any.

On the way home, we were stopped by a state trooper on the Schuylkill Expressway for going too slowly. I escaped back then with only a warning — no ticket or points on my license. Thank goodness.

I am now a lead-foot driver and have the tickets to prove it.

Years ago, my husband also gave driving lessons to my soon-to-be son-in-law, Quinn. He grew up in Manhattan and had no need to drive. After the wedding, he and my daughter were leaving to drive cross-country to go to graduate school at Stanford, Quinn for a Ph.D. in Chinese history, and my daughter for a master’s in international foreign policy.

Quinn didn’t have his license. My daughter would have to do all the driving. He needed to get his license. So my husband stepped in with more driving lessons.

The only place Quinn could get an appointment for a test was at a Motor Vehicle Bureau in Ellenville, New York. Upstate. So, after much machinations of parallel parking, where my husband made the distance between cars smaller and smaller, they headed to Ellenville on their way west.

When Quinn arrived for his appointment, he learned that the person testing him was of Chinese descent and spoke fluent Mandarin. The tester wanted to speak Mandarin as soon as he realized Quinn was a Mandarin speaker, too. Thanks to the Chinese-American official, Quinn passed his test with flying colors.

Next stop was Niagara Falls. The perfect honeymoon was even more perfect now that Sophie didn’t have to drive the whole way to California.

Just outside Rapid City, South Dakota, Sophie called to tell us the car was smoking and making loud noises. Luckily, Mick had been in Rapid City recently shooting a documentary and knew there was a Ford dealer not far from where they broke down.

Mick called at 6 p.m., as the garage was closing, and explained that the kids were on their honeymoon in a used Ford Focus that had developed problems. The mechanic said, “Send them in.”

The mechanic went to the local auto graveyard and found the parts he needed that he didn’t have, fixed the car and sent them on their merry way. My husband sent a case of wine to the mechanic as a thank you.

Years earlier, for Sophie’s 16th birthday, we got her an old, safe Mercedes 300D diesel sedan. That car served her very well, until a gas station attendant put gasoline in the car instead of diesel. The Mercedes was never the same again.

Another old car my husband bought was a classic 1969 Mustang convertible, in Acapulco blue with blue leather seats. My husband drove it to Palm Beach when my son got married. Our son Mark wanted to drive his new wife from the church, Bethesda-by-the-Sea, to the reception at the Bath and Tennis Club in dramatic style.

Mark was an early and excellent driver. Mick gave him lessons on our old stick-shift 2002 BMW sedan. They practiced in the parking lot at Coopers Beach.

Mick is the one my two kids call when there is a problem. When Mark was at Skidmore College, I wanted to change the message on my answering machine to: “Press 1 if you are having car problems, press 2 if you need money, press 3 if you are having relationship issues, and press 4 if you just want to say hello to your parents.”

A few years ago, Mark got his motorcycle license and circumnavigated Iceland on a group motorcycle tour for 10 days. It was a successful trip — no calls to Mick.

My husband thinks that “a clean car is a happy car,” so he makes regular trips to the car wash for detailing and vacuuming. I think my red Mini is a happy car.

Back to driving lessons: My husband has given driving lessons to two generations. What are driving lessons if not an attempt to let the baby birds leave the nest and be independent beings?

Just so they know we are only a phone call away if they need help.