I let my driver’s license expire nearly 20 years ago, and haven’t been behind the wheel since. Please believe me when I say this was an act of kindness for the good of everyone on the road.
Getting your license was a rite of passage as a teenager. Being born in November, I would see my friends get their 365 (which allowed you to practice driving before turning 16) and their license nearly a full year before me. They would jangle their keys at school and work - a tangible symbol of the independence and freedom that came with being allowed to drive.
I would watch them with a mixture of envy and terror. I inherited a full serving of what I like to call ‘the oopsie daisy’ genes. I’ve met few people as clumsy and prone to dropping things as me. Combine that with a shameful sense of direction, poor vision and basically zero spatial awareness - and though I wanted to drive, I knew instinctively that I would be terrible at it.
Still, I dutifully signed up for a Young Drivers of Canada course, passed my 365 on the first try and then waited months before plucking up the courage to actually take driving lessons.
My instructor was a man named Reuben. He seemed to have a deep-seated hatred for the kids he taught to drive. We were comfortably suburban middle class teens, and he powerfully resented us for it. He would scowl at the phonebook I brought with me in order to reach the pedals in his car, as though being short was yet another character flaw of mine.
As an adult, I’d likely have empathy for whatever conditions led him to Canada, and to a job that clearly made him miserable. But as a teen, I matched his disdain with eye-rolling derision. Somehow, we managed to get through our lessons, and miraculously - I passed my driving test the first time. I honestly don’t know how. I wasn’t a good driver from the jump.
Two days later, I drove the car my older sister and I shared to work for the first time. However, not really having been taught how to park, I decided to park as far from other cars as possible. So when I finished my shift, you can imagine my shock when I saw that Reuben’s car was parked next to mine. So close they were practically kissing, the distinct Young Driver’s logo mocking me.
I panicked. What was he doing here? And why was he parked next to me in the far reaches of the lot? The inevitable happened. I backed out not knowing how to do it, and lightly dinged his car. Even though I was freaking out, I still had the wherewithal to check if there was any damage. I didn’t see any visible marks or dents, but my panic was now an all-consuming fear.
I was somehow able to drive home and being honest, called Reuben. He immediately starting screaming at me, threatening that ‘I would pay’ and in hysterics, I practically flung the phone at my dad, who I think was onto the grift already. He calmly told Reuben to drive over so he could check the car himself.
This being before cell phones with cameras, I only had my word that I hadn’t damaged Reuben’s car. But when he arrived, he tried to blame a giant dent on the other side of the car on me. My hysterics started up again. My dad told me to go away, and then quietly told Reuben to leave before he called the police. Although short too, my father had the strength of about 10 men, and probably could have ripped my phonebook driving pillow in half. Reuben sized him up, realized this and left. We never heard from him again.
I wish I could say I got better with time and practice, but that would be a lie. If anything, starting my driving career with an accident made me worse. I banged curbs routinely, scraped a car in the teacher’s parking lot and got increasingly less comfortable every time I drove. A move to Ottawa from Burlington, where I drove a giant pick-up truck in abject terror, so intensely scarred me that I hung up my keys for good shortly after.
I occasionally have dreams where I need to drive, and I have no control over the car as it moves at impossible speeds, careening around like I’m playing Mario Kart. This confirms my decision for me.
I tried, and I failed. But, I no longer feel any shame in that. It’s good to know your strengths, but it’s even more important to know your weaknesses and be OK with them. And I still love going for a drive - just as a fantastic passenger.
Knowing my strengths
Glad my cars were a street away when you were driving. Scott hit a tree on Huntington Drive when he first started but said it was nothing. The next morning we found a branch stuck in tire well of his car. He still prefers if someone else wants to drive but he is still driving.
I did my driving class in mid september 2001. My main memories of it are 1) the instructor was super racist against muslims, 2) he just had me drive to store while he went inside to run errands, 3) the ring road around DC was geting repaved and painted so there were no functional lane markers.
Oh, and I spent the in class portion translating our textbook into Elvish from The Silmarillion because I was absolutely insufferable.
Hate driving to this day.