Pre-Driver’s Ed                                                                                                                 March 20, 2021

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I was having a midlife crisis. I was in the middle of my eleventh year and I wasn’t driving anything yet! No tractor. No truck. No car.

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Gary would talk about driving their tractor all over their 180 acres. Billy told about driving their pickup to the pasture to feed the cattle. I only had my faithful bike. 

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Growing up in Arkansas in the late 1940’s meant there were a lot of farm roads in addition to the few highways. Freeways were not even an idea yet. So boys learned to drive early, well before we were old enough to get a license. The license was just the badge of honor verifying that you knew what you had been doing for the last few years.

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Pop had purchased a used ‘46 black Chevy. It was the newest car he had ever bought and he took care of it. The Arkansas roads were either muddy or dusty so he washed his pride and joy often.  Then he applied Simoniz Wax and buffed it to a reflective shine. Jerry and I would help out, washing the whitewall tires and the huge hubcaps and cleaning as high as we could wash. 

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There were times when he put me in his lap behind the steering wheel and let me “drive” the car before I could touch the floorboard. With my hands higher than my head, and looking through the steering wheel I was driving. My idea was that the faster you turned that big wheel, the faster the car would go. So, I would take up the whole road, back and forth with his hand gently redirecting the car away from a ditch or tree. As he let me steer more, he explained the object of driving was to keep the vehicle on the road and, preferably, the right hand side. I moved the big circle less as I learned to make the car go where I was looking. So as often as I could, on those lonely, dusty, washboard back roads as we were going to visit a church member, I’d ask to steer. He’d take his right hand off the steering wheel, opening the path for me to crawl into his lap and take over.

 

One day as I was controlling the massive vehicle, we came to a bridge, a typical rural country road bridge. Heavy boards lay crosswise to the road. Other boards that curled up a little at each end formed two lines across the length of the span. There were no guard rails to prevent a dip in the creek. Pop slowed the car down as we approached that fearful crossing. I was ready to scoot into the middle of that bench seat when he said, “You drive it across.”

 

I was sure I had misunderstood as he let the car slow down. I looked up at him and he said, “You can do it.”

 

I wasn’t sure. I had never had this challenge before. Fear and excitement were battling for my attention. 

 

The car was moving at a turtle’s pace. “Just look straight down the road and aim the car there.” he advised.

 

I could feel the tires change from the gravel to wood.  I heard the sound of the boards popping up and down. I smelled the humid vegetation surrounding the water. The taste of adrenaline was in my mouth. But, I zeroed in on the road beyond the bridge and directed my total attention to that spot where I hoped to safely arrive.

 

Ever so slowly, with a death grip on the wheel, I stared straight ahead. We crept on the way as if the lives of all four of us depended on me. Then I heard the sound of gravel and knew we had made it. I was excited.

 

“I did it, didn’t I?” I asked as Pop accelerated the car back to a normal speed. 

 

“You sure did. I knew you could.” he commented, giving me the recognition I wanted.

 

When I was about eleven, we visited Uncle Bill’s farm. My cousin, Kenneth, was always a favorite of mine. I looked up to him and, even though he was about seven years older than I, he would still spend time with me. 

 

We were sitting in Uncle Bill’s black ‘47 Chevrolet talking about many subjects. Driving was on my mind and looking at the long shift lever, I began, “How do you know where the gears are and which one to use?”

 

“Let’s change seats,” he said, “so I can show you how to do it. And put this pillow behind your back so you can reach the pedals.”

 

Sitting behind the wheel, which I could now see over, I placed my right hand on the plastic knob on top of the long metal rod.

 

“You operate the clutch with your left foot. It lets you have the engine running when you are stopped and lets you change gears. Push it all the way down. Now, pull the shift lever over toward you then push it down. Do you feel things move as you did that?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“That’s first gear. You use it to start forward. Now push it back up to the middle position. Then move it to the right and push it up. Did you feel that?” he asked.

 

“Yes.”

 

“That’s second gear. You put it there after you have a little speed. Now, pull it straight down. That’s high gear for most of your driving. Now, do them all again.”

 

I practiced as he called out the gears. As he added reverse to the mix, he would say a gear and I was to find it.

 

“Now let’s try it with the engine running.” 

 

I was thrilled and excited beyond words. I could almost feel myself shake with anticipation.

 

“You know how to put on the brakes, don’t you?” He checked. “Push the clutch down and hold it while we start the engine.”

With my left foot holding the clutch to the floor, I twisted my right foot to press the silvery big button and the starter began to grind. The engine came to life and I quickly let off on the throttle.

 

And the engine died. 

 

“You have to give it a little gas as you start it.”

 

So I tried a second time. As I pushed the starter the engine began to run and I gave it gas. It roared loudly.

 

“Not that much gas.” he yelled over the sound of the motor.

 

I released the pressure on my foot and the engine calmed down to a normal sound.

 

“Okay, now slowly let out on the clutch.”

 

We made a big jump forward, pressing us into our seats. Then we made a quick stop, throwing us forward almost into the dashboard.

 

And the engine died.

 

“Not bad,” he lied, “for the first try. Let’s do it again.”

 

And we did with the same results.

 

“Let the clutch out slower and give it a little more gas,” he said as he prepared for yet another try.

 

Carefully following his instructions, I let out on the clutch with more gas, maybe too much. The car leaped, throwing rocks with the wheels. I let off on the gas but we kept going. 

 

“Fine. Now move it into second gear.”

 

Very cautiously I moved the lever, looking down to see where it was going. 

 

“Watch the road!” Kenneth exclaimed as we headed toward the ditch.

 

I corrected and got it into second gear. 

 

When I made it into third gear, Kenneth said, “Stop. Let’s do it all again.”

 

With no traffic on that country road, we did it again, with a little better success.

 

We did it again and again, even backing up once or twice. I don’t remember how many times Kenneth let me practice. I grew more and more excited but as I improved, he was no longer challenged and grew bored of it.

 

We went into the house and I was so hyped up I had to tell Uncle Bill that I had driven his car. He congratulated me and listened to my adventure story as if it were the first time in history it had happened to anyone. 

 

On the way home from Uncle Bill’s, I told my dad, “I know how to drive.”

 

“Good.” was all he said. Mom gave a little more enthusiastic response. It was enough for me to tell the whole training lesson.

 

Unbelievably, when we got home, he said, “Let’s see if you know how to drive.”

 

I grabbed the pillow Mom always kept in the car and stuffed it behind my back. Sitting under the steering wheel by myself with Pop in the middle position, I got our old car started without giving everyone whiplash. It wasn’t the smoothest of my efforts but it was enough to get a positive response from Pop.

 

“You need a little more practice.” he said. “Back it up to the start of our driveway and do it again.”

 

I made it through all three gears before I got to the house and hit the brakes. 

 

“Pretty good.” he encouraged. “Back it up and let’s do it again.”

 

So a second time and a third time. Then more as I improved. 

 

“You still need practice.” 

 

I wasn’t sure how or when I could practice but I was excited to be driving and I talked about it all the way through supper. 

 

A couple of days later Pop said, “Let’s go practice.” 

 

I was excited as he handed me the key and we went to the black car that I had suddenly taken such an interest in that I had washed it.

 

I backed it out to the road and drove toward the garage, going through every gear. After a couple of trips up and down the driveway, he got out. I started to turn off the key but he said, “Do it a few more times. I’ve got some other things I need to do.”

 

So here I was, driving all by myself, up and down the long driveway. Over and over again. I wasn’t tired of doing it even when Mom called “Supper.” 

 

The next day, Pop said, “Here’s the key. Go practice.”

 

I don’t know how many gallons of gas I burned driving toward the garage but I learned to start, shift and stop smoothly. 

 

Before I turned 12  we were going down an isolated road to visit a church member. Pop said, “You drive.”

 

With him beside me, I drove the whole way, tasting the excitement in my mouth.

 

My biggest thrill came a few days later when we were leaving the house. As usual, I asked, “May I drive?” 

 

Pop pitched the key to me. I caught it midair and climbed into the driver’s seat expecting Dad to get in next to me. Instead, he and Mom got into the back seat and I was the driver alone in the front, chauffeuring them down the dusty road. I was really driving. They completely trusted a 12 year old boy with their car and their lives. Well, maybe it wasn’t just trust. It could have been the results of a lot of praying and loving concern to help their son move toward adulthood.

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Psalm 112:1-2 Praise the Lord! For all who fear God and trust in him are blessed beyond expression. Yes, happy is the man who delights in doing his commands. His children shall be honored everywhere, for good men’s sons have a special heritage.