My mom never really learned how to drive a car. From time to time my dad did manage to get her behind the wheel and try to teach her to drive. Since I was the youngest I went along for the ride. Mom, for some reason, was always totally freaked out about learning to drive. I don’t think Dad was a bad instructor it was more that mom just couldn’t handle the idea of driving. Maybe it was because the cars were so big; after all, we did own some big cars. One of the cars was a big 1948 Packard, four door, with a three speed stick on the column. It was so big, if you sat in the back seat, you could hear an echo.

I can remember it like yesterday; my Dad saying over and over again to mom, “Now push the clutch to the floor, move the shift lever into first gear, now let the clutch pedal out slowly.” Suddenly the car lunged foreword, started bucking up and down like in a rodeo, then came to a screeching stop with a dead engine. If my dad hadn’t been holding onto the dash I’m sure he would have hit his head on the windshield, and for Mom, she would be sobbing. For me, getting thrown around in the back seat, for 8 seconds at a time, was a lot of fun. It was something Mom and Dad just wanted to forget. After attempting to get around the block, again and again, and again, it was time to call it a day, and Mom would scoot across the seat, sobbing, and Dad would get behind the wheel and drive us home. I never thought years later it would be my turn to teach my wife to drive, but I did. Kaye was a natural; all I really did was enjoy the ride. Later on, Kaye and I both helped our kids learn to drive. It helped that they really wanted to drive.

BE ONE WITH THE CAR!

Grandpa Tom