learning to drive in the summer

 

“Please teach me to drive this summer, Carola!” I begged over the phone.  Desperation had driven me to this point.  Ray was being tested for a possible heart attack and I had to find rides to and from the hospital for visits.  I was fifty years old and it was time to learn.

 

We didn’t need a car early in our marriage, and when we had one, I showed no interest in learning.  When the children were growing up, driving became necessary and I tried to learn. It was then that Ray was convinced I had too many qualities which pinpointed me as a hazard on the road.  I was unobservant, had no spatial relation sense,  and I panicked easily.  But when I asked for a used car so I could bang it up a few times as I improved on my driving skills, I received a diamond ring as my gift instead.

“It is safer than a car,” Ray pronounced.  So ended my quest to  learn how to drive, to be independent.

 

Year after year I was forced to ask for rides. Cashing checks using an identity card instead of a driver’s license was a humiliating experience each time as cashiers stared at me trying to determine the reason I didn’t have a driver’s license. A drunk? Mentally challenged? An illegal immigrant?

 

That summer in North Dakota, sneaking lessons unbeknownst to Ray was transformative.  I grew up.  I took matters into my own hands, overcame my timidity, and my fear of being put down, and learned to drive!