Riff RaffFirst Lesson
May 9th 2007 05:43
Until this day, she’d done all her driving with me – all 45 hours. With her confidence on high, and with the minimum 50 hour-mark fast approaching, we’d agreed it was time for driving lessons. Time for professional tips. Time for polishing. It was also time for an honest appraisal of her abilities as a driver. And to be fair, time for an honest appraisal of my abilities as an instructor. In short, there was a great deal hanging on this one hour. Either she’d come home with her confidence renewed, or her confidence in tatters. The minute she walked in the door, I knew which one it was.
“She” happens to be my wife. My 35 year old wife. Like most of us, she got her L’s in her teens. Like some of us, she failed her first driving test. And unlike most of us, she was happy to let her licence lapse. Easy as that.
With a used-car dealer for a father, you’d be forgiven for thinking she was ripe for a licence. In her case, it was quite the opposite. You’ve heard of the over-bearing sporting parent. Well in this case, substitute “sporting” with “car loving”. Her memories of learning to drive in his pride and joy – a Mercedes 380SL – were anything but joyous. And with a demonstrated ability to lose patience and embrace tension, his legacy as an instructor left a lasting impression.
Living and working close to the city, with public transport always on hand meant never needing to drive. Meeting her future husband (licence included) in her early-20’s further negated any need for getting behind the wheel. In fact, she took pride at being the odd one out – happily admitting to those who asked that no… she did not drive.
But… people’s resolve is there to be tested. And her resolve eventually buckled under the combined weight of two inescapable realities – her ticking body clock and common sense. Being a mother and being able to drive made a great deal of sense to her. Catching public transport for so many years had taught her that whilst riding the buses with a pram and shopping was possible, it was definitely not what she wanted. Once that seed was planted, the notion of greater general independence sprouted not long after.
Getting her L’s was a momentous day. All the hours spent on the net studying the rules of the road and taking sample tests meant for a speedy examination at the RTA. She was suddenly a re-born aspirant driver. In no time at all were the benefits of being able to drive reinforced in her thinking. She often wondered why she had taken so long to see the light. And with a will that wanted to learn to drive - as opposed to being told to – she learned quickly. Her frustration at time lost was tempered by the knowledge that her sensibilities as a mature learner were invaluable. Indeed, apart from the occasional close call whilst navigating the narrow streets of parts of inner-Sydney, I always felt safe with her behind the wheel.
And so to her first lesson.
When she walked through the door, the smile on her face was ear to ear. “I’m a good driver!”, she proudly proclaimed. The relief was palpable, the joy immediate. If and when she passes her test, I doubt it will be as joyous as that moment.
With a used-car dealer for a father, you’d be forgiven for thinking she was ripe for a licence. In her case, it was quite the opposite. You’ve heard of the over-bearing sporting parent. Well in this case, substitute “sporting” with “car loving”. Her memories of learning to drive in his pride and joy – a Mercedes 380SL – were anything but joyous. And with a demonstrated ability to lose patience and embrace tension, his legacy as an instructor left a lasting impression.
Living and working close to the city, with public transport always on hand meant never needing to drive. Meeting her future husband (licence included) in her early-20’s further negated any need for getting behind the wheel. In fact, she took pride at being the odd one out – happily admitting to those who asked that no… she did not drive.
But… people’s resolve is there to be tested. And her resolve eventually buckled under the combined weight of two inescapable realities – her ticking body clock and common sense. Being a mother and being able to drive made a great deal of sense to her. Catching public transport for so many years had taught her that whilst riding the buses with a pram and shopping was possible, it was definitely not what she wanted. Once that seed was planted, the notion of greater general independence sprouted not long after.
Getting her L’s was a momentous day. All the hours spent on the net studying the rules of the road and taking sample tests meant for a speedy examination at the RTA. She was suddenly a re-born aspirant driver. In no time at all were the benefits of being able to drive reinforced in her thinking. She often wondered why she had taken so long to see the light. And with a will that wanted to learn to drive - as opposed to being told to – she learned quickly. Her frustration at time lost was tempered by the knowledge that her sensibilities as a mature learner were invaluable. Indeed, apart from the occasional close call whilst navigating the narrow streets of parts of inner-Sydney, I always felt safe with her behind the wheel.
And so to her first lesson.
When she walked through the door, the smile on her face was ear to ear. “I’m a good driver!”, she proudly proclaimed. The relief was palpable, the joy immediate. If and when she passes her test, I doubt it will be as joyous as that moment.
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