My Mean Green Freedom Machine

I finally earned my driver’s license after several months of anxious waiting. My father had not been sharing his privilege to drive, until recently. I had been denied the fun to even drive in friend’s cars, but now I have my freedom.

I am an October baby, proud to be older than most fellow classmates. I hoped to be able to get my license on my sixteenth birthday and drive on my own, but my father decided differently. He determined early on that I would have to drive at least a year on my learner’s permit and then only maybe get the chance to drive alone.

Driving for a year meant driving as much as possible. Driving as much as possible meant driving every day. So I drove. Every morning before 7am I rolled out of our driveway with my mom screaming her head off beside me, and my little brother in the back. I drove to school almost every single morning, except when I was still curling my hair, doing last minute homework, or wearing a short skirt. I thought I was driving well, but my picky father enrolled me into a driving school, in the back of a strip mall.

I sat for many, many hours being lectured on the rules of the road by a qualified teacher and driving with him for extra experience. I was a wonderful driver. Or so he said. I never broke any rules, and I learned the basics, from parallel parking, to small hints and pointers that I needed to pass the driving test. I learned quite a few things that weren’t really apparent in the driver’s handbook. In fact, the handbook was a thin paperback made by the State to help with the ground rules, but wasn’t thorough at all. After a week of driving 14 hours with the instructor…at night…in rush hour, I was ready for the test. It wasn’t very difficult after all the horror stories I had heard. A 30-minute piece of cake. My instructor had already given me all the things I needed to know to pass, so of course I didn’t miss a single point. Most of all, the class met my dad’s expectations. Only another four months until the snow cleared, and I was ready to ride.

The added time extension might have been understandable, but I already had a vehicle. If I hadn’t had one, I could have easily gotten one for a small sum. I looked at numerous cars and trucks, all under $2,000, and there were plenty of other cheap vehicles somewhere in the family. My aunt had given me a cute little light green Honda Accord. When did they ever paint cars light green? In 1981 of course. She was green and older than me, but she was still my baby and I love her.

At first I thought she was an eyesore. There was rust around the tires, the paint was peeling, and the seats were torn up severely. We were going to paint it a clear blue, cover up the rust or get rid of it, and refurbish the inside, but with some research we found out that the repairs would cost over $1,000. So we decided to live with it. After several people had commented on her good looks, I knew she was a keeper.

The car just took a little getting used to. There are a lot of great things about its antiqueness. The heater has special knobs and doohickeys for changing the temperature, and with each change a small spurt of dust coughs out. The handiest thing is that it only costs about $12 a week for gas. It’s sometimes a nuisance when the windows don’t roll down at the push of a button, but the non-automatic pulley to lock and unlock the back doors makes up for it. One of the best parts is the stick shift, which keeps me alert while I’m driving and surprises all my friends because there’s more skill involved compared to an automatic.

With all good things come at least a few bad ones. If I ever drive over about 55mph, the entire car vibrates ferociously. It’s frightening to think that eventually the whole frame will just fall apart while I’m driving down the highway. There is no cup holder, the back window doesn’t have a window wiper, and it’s annoying how the radio makes a whirring noise whenever it’s on. The only really bad thing is that there is a lever on the steering wheel for turning on and off the headlights. New drivers are always very forgetful, which I am apt to be anyway, and it is very hard to remember to turn the lever to “off.” So of course, in my early days way back when (at least three weeks ago) I drained the battery over and over again. I solved this problem by writing up a checklist for starting and shutting off the car. It is now taped to my steering wheel. My dad also helped with the battery crisis by installing a buzzer to remind me to turn off the lights.

The driver’s education class was in December. I finally went with my dad to the Department of Motor Vehicles on March 25. By April 1st I would finally be able to start driving. After getting my license with my beautiful picture and signing up to be an organ donor, we headed over to State Farm Insurance. The woman was polite when I showed her my license papers, certificate of ownership, good grades, and driving school diploma. The grades, taking the driving class, and being a female helped lessen the financial blow. The insurance, due to my age, and the expected future gas will still cost my parents a small fortune. Almost as much as the Orthodontist’s bill. I hope to help by getting gallons for grades, using discounts, getting a summer job, and being cautious enough not to hit anyone or get speeding tickets.

Although my father and mother were hesitant to let me start driving on my own, I can see where they’re coming from. Driving is a very dangerous and stressful business.

Fortunately for me, I was forced to get a good amount of experience before hitting the road. Others didn’t go through the same preparation. Some have a difficult time driving and make it a lot less safe for other drivers. In some states driver’s education is a required part of the high school curriculum. It’s an intelligent idea because everyone learns the same techniques from a qualified instructor, rather than from parents with bad habits. That’s why Alaska is renowned for its horrible drivers. It is very dangerous up north the way the roads freeze and the way our city keeps up their condition. The streets are narrow with large potholes, ruts, and frost heaves. We have very icy surfaces in the winter and blinding rainstorms in the summer, which makes driving situations very difficult.

Driving is very stressful for me too. Especially when I stall. After one stall I get flustered and it leads to more stalls. My record is five in a row, in the same intersection. The light changed from red to green to red before I could even get started. It’s even harder when people are honking and screaming at me and I feel so small and helpless. It’s bad enough to be pushed around, but it’s even worse when I’m confused and don’t know what I’m supposed to do. Maybe it would help if I drove a monster truck, or just get really big wheels for my car.

Being a decisive driver is important too. Knowing where I’m going and what I want is necessary in order to get there. I don’t mean cutting off other drivers or driving recklessly to get somewhere on time, but rather that I should decide to be a safe driver and not a timid one. When I don’t know exactly where to go or what to do I sit there idling and puzzling without anyone to turn to for information. Decisions must be made in split seconds, and actions taken. Hesitating over something causes accidents, disappointments, to failure. Maps are especially helpful.

My dad came from a big city, where driving is very crowded with lengthy traffic jams and there is a tendency for road rage. Fortunately for him, he got a good education in driving. He was taught to drive at a young age and once even had to drive in reverse for several miles to get an understanding of backing up. I need help with this too; I’ve already gotten my car permanently stuck in the snow banks of our fairly large driveway several times. It’s hard for some people to adapt to changes, like suddenly driving on their own. Becoming a good driver is a skill that takes a long time to master. For me, I eventually got the hang of it. At first I was a little apprehensive, a little excited about driving to school all by myself. Now its still somewhat scary, but I am much more confident and relaxed. My dad, on the other hand, has been driving a long time. Crashes or skids don’t make him nervous or paranoid of ever driving again. He’s become accustomed to all the hassles and benefits.

Fixing a car is also one of my dad’s areas of expertise. He used to own his own airplane mechanic shop, and went to a mechanic’s school, so he’s very qualified to repair any kind of machine, but also to teach me how to do it. He provides a lot of good advice about when to get gas, how to check and change the oil, and other small necessities that my car needs. He also gives me many pointers for driving up north. His warnings help in many different circumstances. On top of this advice he tells me about all his driving experiences from his very first time until now and in all the different vehicles he drove.

Driving is an earned freedom. Anyone given a car and a license can go and do whatever they want. No more biking across town or begging for rides home. Now, going out to lunch is cheaper than paying for myself and whoever drove me. This phase in a person’s life is incredibly significant. Most adults remember vividly their first years of driving, even their first car. It’s a very memorable experience, important not to miss.

So far, I have done quite a few exciting things. In the past few weeks I have used the drive-in window for the very first time, twice. I went to McDonald’s for an ice cream after school and Arby’s for lunch during school. The first week I started driving to school I went out to lunch with my friends every single day. Then I had to make up some tests and do homework so I stopped going as often. I’ve also gotten my gas alone. I’m given about $20 dollars per week mainly for gas, but I usually only use half of it. I might eventually get a credit card so that it is quicker than walking in to pay all the time, but I like collecting the stamps that get free gas. My parents are usually busy doing extra curricular activities after their work, so now I pick up my brother from Campfire at school on a regular basis. Sometimes I have to take him to soccer practice or games, too. It’s more fun to drive with people though, so even if it’s just to the store, I like to take him along with me.

Getting to drive is an essential turning point in a teenager’s life. It is a time when a child is becoming an adult. They are learning the responsibilities of being older and therefore are given more responsibilities. As teenagers demonstrate trustworthiness they are given more freedom. If they have matured they will come home on time and drive their siblings on errands. If they haven’t matured, they will slide into stop signs and generally cause problems. It’s an easy way for parent to see what their children are capable of.

The other thing about freedom is that I no longer have to wait to be picked up from places. I have stayed at school after sports practices at least 500 hours or more, waiting for my mother to pick me up. She took her time driving over from her work, only about five minutes away, after I had called her from payphones. I have also been left stranded at movie theatres, malls, and most other places, unable to get rides, thanks to the fact that I live on the opposite side of town from everyone I know. Now, my parents still worry about me, so they gave me a cell phone to call them in an emergency. I might sound like a spoiled rich kid, but I’m quite the opposite, I hope. My parents both have full time jobs and we are a middle class family, but I get my privileges because I am responsible enough not to do careless things or waste money. I have learned from driving to always remain safe and cautious and I plan to do so, in all circumstances.

The taste of freedom is good. It’s a velvety liquid that warms your insides and puts your mind on ease. It makes you feel like an independent person with no worries in the world. In another few years I will look back on these days as the highlight of my childhood years. I will always remember the way I was let out of my parents’ cage and free to roam in the wild and live a little.