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Lessons behind the wheel can teach
a little more about life than we realized at 15.

MARC ROSENBLATT
Special to The Jewish News

smirked when I saw the
"Student Driver" sign on the
skidding car doing a complete
360 in front of my house.
Inside, pale with fear, the new driver
just sat there, unable to continue his
lesson. The instructor, obviously
immune to the situation, shot me an
"I'm sorry" glance before directing the
student back onto the road.
Instantly, I was back 11 years, mak-
ing the same mistake on a similar ice
patch. My mind flooded with memo-
es of the days just before I received
my driver's license, before I had the
patience to watch and learn.
My first driving lesson on a main
road led, of course, to my first mis-
take. I'd had only 10 hours of class-
room training but thought that my

lifetime of being a passenger was
enough. The light turned yellow; I was
only 20 yards away, so I hit the gas.
The instructor, sensing my eagerness,
slammed his foot on his brake, stop-
ping the car just short of the intersec-
tion.
"Patience," he drawled. "You've got
to do all of your stopping before you
have to stop if you want to stop for
the yellow light. And you want to stop
for the yellow light."
I still don't know exactly what he
said, but I think I got the gist of it.
During my next lesson, I stopped
at every yellow light, sometimes slam-
ming on the brakes. But I still had a
lot to learn. Highway driving was
next.
Before entering I-696, the instruc-
tor with a Southern lilt explained the
intricacies of merging onto a freeway
— while we were parked in a nearby

lot. Then, nervously, with one eye on
the road and the other on the
speedometer, I began heading down
the on-ramp. The road was crowded,
and my merge lane was short. I let up
on the gas; he yelled, "Give it more."
An Audi flew by, then a Benz.
"I'm never going to make it," I
thought. Miraculously, a space
opened. I floored the pedal, checked
over my shoulder and eased into the
lane.
"Good job," my instructor praised,
"but next time, with a bit of patience,
you'll remember to use your turn sig-
nal."
Soon after, I got my permit. So
close to heaven yet so far from free-
dom. Now I just had to survive the
next 11 months with my mother in
the passenger seat. (At least she had no
accent.)
A month before I got my license, I

felt I was ready for the•roads. I'd prac-
ticed hard and felt there wasn't a situa-
tion I couldn't handle.
About three weeks before my birth-
day, I came home from school to find a
gray Honda Civic parked in the drive-
way. I wondered who was over, until I
got inside and saw nobody but my par-
ents ... smiling.
I was ecstatic. I had a car. My life
was about to change. I could go on
dates 4nd out with friends. With no
chaperone necessary, I could drive to
Alpena if I wanted.
I hugged my parents, grabbed the
keys and ran outside. It was February,
and the-ground was covered with
snow. I jumped in the car and pressed
every button on the dashboard before
noticing the stick shift on the floor. I
didn't know how to drive a manual
transmission. Sensing my panic, my
parents smiled, assuring me that I'd
learn before-my birthday.
After a few lessons in the school's
parking lot, I felt pretty comfortable
with the transmission. Only first
gear and reverse were a little touchy,
but I had a plan to remedy that
problem. Our driveway was a long
blacktop runway, perfect for clutch
training.
For the next two weeks I drove the
car back and forth on the driveway
after school. First gear, reverse, first
gear, reverse. Forty yards one way, and
40 yards back. I was determined to get
it right.
A few days before my birthday,
with no parents in the house and a
yearning for more than 40 yards, I left
the confines of the blacktop for a
quick spin around the block.
Nervously, I eased the car from first to
second, then third gear. I was halfway
around the block and approaching my
next turn. I let up on the gas and
began turning the wheel. But the tires
wouldn't catch. I was on a sheet of ice,
and my car started to spin. I panicked
— not at the thought of losing con-
trol but at the idea of my parents hav-
ing to come get me.
Luckily, I regained control of the
car. And drove immediately back to
my house.
Seeing that student driver spin out
in front of my house made me
remember the value of patience, some-
thing that grows with time and which
I've tried to incorporate into my
everyday adult life. As always, good
things are worth waiting for.
And, after 11 years, I guess my par-
ents have waited long enough to here
that story. 111

1/9
1998

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