The vehicle I learned to drive in was borrowed from my grandmother, my mother’s mother-in-law. It seemed to stretch endlessly—approximately 900 feet long—and lacked air conditioning. As we cruised down the highway, we rolled the windows down, allowing the wind to whip through our hair with hurricane-like intensity. In the back seat was a rear-facing chair that my cousins adored, but I found it frustrating; I wanted to see the road ahead, not the scenery we were leaving behind.
We affectionately called the car “La Bamba”—not for its rhythmic connotations, but because it resembled a bomb in its outdatedness. As I took my place in the passenger seat, my mother would let me out at the end of the long circular drive in front of my school, fully aware of my disdain for that car and the changes it symbolized in our lives.
The first vehicle my mother purchased after her divorce was a used 1979 Mercury Cougar. It was white with a maroon pleather interior, and its alternator frequently left us stranded. This was the car she chose for my driving lessons.
The first time I attempted to back down my grandparents’ driveway, the rear wheels landed squarely in a shallow drain across the street. Frustrated, I exclaimed, “Mom, this is pointless. I’ll never learn to drive.”
“Yes, you will. Pull forward and try again,” she encouraged. She insisted I practice until I mastered the art of turning the steering wheel at the correct angle to align with the street.
During my sophomore year of high school, my mother purchased her first brand-new car: a bright blue Toyota Corolla. Her excitement was palpable as she jumped out of the car in front of our tiny apartment. “Come on! Let’s go for a ride!” she exclaimed, dancing around the vehicle. As I slid into the front seat, I noticed, to my dismay, that it was a manual transmission.
“Uh, Mom, this car is a stick shift.”
“I know!” she replied enthusiastically. “Isn’t it wonderful?”
Having only driven automatics, I felt completely unprepared for this new challenge. “But I don’t know how to drive a stick.”
“I know,” she said, shifting gears as we pulled away. “I’m going to teach you. Every girl should know how to drive a standard.” She recounted a news report about two girls who were abducted, emphasizing that one who couldn’t drive was put in the trunk. “I never want you to be the girl in the trunk.”
And thus began my lessons. While I became more skilled at driving the stick shift, my relationship with the speedy blue Corolla was tumultuous. I scraped the side against a guardrail while reversing and knocked off part of the bumper after colliding with a fence. I even damaged the passenger side when I pulled out in front of a group of guys who were less than interested in my offer to call the police. Ultimately, I caused enough damage that I needed a tow truck after running a stop sign—though in my defense, there was a tree obscuring it.
When my mother arrived to evaluate the damage, I handed her my driver’s license, my face streaked with tears. “What’s this?” she asked, her tone revealing her anger.
“It’s my license. Clearly, I shouldn’t be driving.”
She pointed the card back at me, “Put this back in your wallet and don’t ever say that again. Now, let’s focus on the car.”
My family often recounts the time my father bought a brand new pickup truck with a manual shift, knowing my mother didn’t know how to drive it. Unwilling to be sidelined, she taught herself, fueled by determination and an “I’ll show you” mindset.
To my mother, owning a car and driving represented control over her own destiny, safety, and freedom—an escape from the fear of being trapped. While her lessons didn’t necessarily make me an excellent driver, they instilled in me values of perseverance, independence, and the importance of fighting for what I believe in.
By my senior year, my mother gifted me a 1979 Monte Carlo, which I took with me when I left home that summer. Over the next five years, I drove it back and forth on Interstate 10, windows rolled down, hair flying in the breeze, always focused on the road ahead.
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Summary
In this narrative, the author shares her journey of learning to drive alongside her mother, highlighting the emotional significance of driving as a symbol of independence and control. From a challenging start in an outdated car to mastering a manual transmission in a new vehicle, the lessons learned extend beyond driving skills to life lessons about perseverance and self-reliance.