Learning to think before one speaks
You had to be there.
Most men don’t like to be driven. It’s probably in our genes that when we climb into a car, we automatically want to get behind the steering wheel. Add to this that we sometimes must help teach others how to drive (usually a teen who has only a few hours behind the wheel) and it can grow into a very stressful situation.
That’s where self-control and patience come in. After all, once-upon-a-time, we also were learners. We weren’t born drivers: we had to be taught.
Some are more adventurous (or impatient) than others. For example, my father allowed my brother at age seven to cruise in a pickup truck around the field behind our house. I was a late bloomer. I was 13 when I proudly told my brother that I had been driving his car around the yard. “Sure you have,’ he scoffed. I took him for a ride and that ended his skepticism.
I have been legally driving for more than 40 years and conservatively (adding all the miles I put on my own vehicles) must have nearly a round-trip to the moon under my belt.
So, here’s the situation today.
Kendra, our now 16-year-old friend, has her learner’s permit and has been driving for several weeks. We let her get behind the wheel of my wife’s car for about an hour on a recent trip to Williamsport, where the teen was ensconced for a week at a Pennsylvania Free Enterprise Week program.
Returning the following weekend, it was my job to take her to a local store where she could buy a new pair of shoes for work and then drive her home.
When we walked out of the store, the question rolled into my brain, “Should I ask her if she wants to drive?’ Before I could consider it further, some unknown force made me say to her, “Want to drive?’
“Sure,’ she said.
I’m very particular (make that fussy) about who drives my car. I don’t even like my lovely wife to drive it because she readjusts the seat, the mirrors, etc., and it takes days for me to get things back to where they are just right for my portly self.
But, at that point, I said it and I couldn’t take it back.
Determined to be calm about the situation, I remembered my late father’s patience with me when he taught me how to drive. He didn’t yell. He didn’t sigh a lot. I didn’t feel like he was a coiled spring sitting next to me waiting to push me out of the car and take over. He was supportive and instructive.
I watched her carefully as she backed up. She decided the route we took. Part of it was on a road under construction that is lined on the right side with Jersey barriers. I knew she was nervous (in part because she was driving MY car and also because of how tight the space was). At one point I thought she was getting too close to the barriers. Not wanting to upset her, I quietly and calmly said, “You may want to get over to the left a little,’ as we passed so close I could feel the car’s paint cringing and my heart leaping into my throat.
We continued on without incident, although when we got on her road, I had to remind her a couple of times to slow down.
It was an experience for her because my car is the largest she has driven to date. My wife’s car is a smaller, mid-size while mine is full-size.
“Your car is easy to drive but I like driving her car better,’ Kendra said.
That this was a real event for her was proven a few weeks later when, while at our house, she told my wife that I let her drive my car, offering the statement as if she were informing her that the sun had just darkened and the moon had crashed into our planet.
“He did?’ my wife exclaimed.
Yes, I did.
Will I do it again?
Well, let’s use another driving metaphor to answer that question.
Next time I’m with Kendra, I’ll make sure I put my brain in gear before I starting running my mouth. Which means I’ll likely let her drive my car.
I’ll just have to think about it first.
Have a good day.
James Pletcher Jr. is Herald-Standard business editor. He can be reached at 724-439-7571 or by e-mail at jpletcher@heraldstandard.com.