To most Americans, obtaining a driver’s license for the first time is an important rite of passage, one that ranks up there with such events as your first Prom, first kiss, first beer, your high school graduation etc. (though not necessarily in that particular order). In a mobile society like the one we live in, to be officially granted the driving privilege means you’re on the verge of adulthood—of total independence. You’re sprouting wings and about to fly the nest and take on the world on your own terms, whatever all that entails. It’s a liberating and thrilling experience that most people don’t tend to forget, and about which they often reminisce with memorable “war stories” that all go to enrich our shared automobile culture.
As you may guess, I do have my own little bit to add to the colorful lore. In my case, though, becoming a proficient driver presented an even bigger deal (or more accurately, challenge), seeing as I wasn’t born and raised in America but only came here after high school. My only modes of transportation until then had been my own two feet, a bicycle, and sometimes my sister’s mini-scooter. And so right off the bat I was a late starter, and fittingly my subsequent journey to automobile adulthood was neither straightforward nor conventional.
The following anecdote somehow stands out in my mind, no doubt because it involved a good friend of mine at the time, who would never since let me live it down. On a whim, I recently jotted it down on paper and sent it out for publication. It was picked up by The Ocotillo Review in Texas (which is quite appropriate, as you shall see). So John, if you happen to come across this post, as I hope you will, have another good laugh “with” me, brother!
The Review publishes in print only, with no online electronic copy, so I had to scan the piece and convert it into a PDF file in order to share with you. So enjoy, have a chuckle! I hope it brings you back memories of your own early driving days. Feel free to share them with the rest of us, if you dare!
Click HERE to read this short piece, which is titled By the Time I Made Oklahoma.
Hahaha, good story! Amazing we all survived our youth to tell stories. At 16 I was not tall enough to see clearly over the steering wheel in my dad’s Chevy station wagon. So the solution was to sit on a phone book, which was a thick item in those days. Thanks for your story!
You not tall enough, Steve? Hard to believe. And what is a phone book anyway
Thanks for sharing.
Chinh, that was truly an experience to remember…for both of us. I am also happy that you survived that adventure and that I didn’t have to hire another engineer…following the celebration of life after your demise….
Although I tried to remain upbeat during this “growth ” period of yours, I must say that it did give me some grey hairs with your name on them…
Great story ! Can’t wait for the movie to come out !
Glad you survived the experience, John! That’s why I didn’t tell you all the details at the time
But we both got a good laugh and a story out of it.
You are more than prolific Jim- Wow- Be well, and come to Palm Springs one day.
So good to hear from you, Judy. Hopefully we can get together in PS once the summer heat is gone.
Funny story Jim. BUT I bet we all have stories like that! I walked out of a condo once talking to my son on a cell, who was just arriving. I could not find the condo I had just walked out of 100 feet away. They all looked the same. Finally I had to call the party I had just walked out of, and they came and got us. All you can do is not take life too seriously.
You hit it on the head, John. Can’t take everything too seriously. Laugh and learn.