Your cart is currently empty!
Learning to Drive with My Mom
The car we drove was on loan from my grandma, my mom’s mother-in-law. It was a massive beast, probably about 900 feet long, and didn’t have air conditioning. We would cruise down the highway with all the windows wide open, creating hurricane-like winds that sent our hair flying in every direction.
In the back was a rear-facing seat that my cousins adored but I absolutely detested. I wanted to see the road ahead, not the scenery we had just passed. We affectionately named the car “El Gigante.” Not because it was a sleek ride, but more because it was a total clunker.
Whenever we drove to school, my mom would drop me off at the end of the long, winding driveway. She could sense my disdain for the car and all the changes it signified without me even having to say a word.
The first car she bought after her divorce was a used ’79 Mercury Cougar, white with a maroon pleather interior. Unfortunately, the alternator had a knack for leaving us stranded. It was in this car that my mom decided I should learn to drive.
On my very first attempt backing out of my grandparents’ driveway, I somehow ended up with the back wheels stuck in a drainage ditch. “Mom, this is pointless. I’ll never learn to drive!” I exclaimed in frustration.
“Of course you will. Just pull forward and try again,” she encouraged. She made me practice until I finally got the hang of turning the steering wheel just right to align with the road.
In my sophomore year, Mom splurged on a shiny new blue Toyota Corolla—the first brand new car she had ever bought on her own. She practically leaped out of the car in front of our tiny apartment, her face glowing with excitement. “Let’s take it for a spin!” she exclaimed, dancing around the car like a kid who just got their first bike. I felt an electric buzz as I slid into the front seat.
But then I noticed, to my dismay, that it was a stick shift. “Uh, Mom, this is a manual transmission,” I said, panic rising.
“I know! Isn’t it awesome?” she replied, beaming. The Cougar had been automatic, and I knew as much about driving a stick as I did about rocket science. Not the greatest news since I was supposed to get my license in a couple of months.
“But I don’t know how to drive a manual!” I whined.
“I know,” she said, popping it into gear and pulling out of the driveway. “I’m going to teach you. Every girl should know how to drive a standard.” She shared a story she saw on the news about two girls who were abducted, and the one who couldn’t drive a manual was put in the trunk. “I never want you to be that girl,” she said, and thus began my lessons.
While I mostly learned about shifting gears, my relationship with the speedy little Corolla was rocky. I scraped the side on a guardrail while reversing, knocked off a bumper section when I misjudged a fence, and dented the passenger side after pulling out in front of some guys who had no interest in my calling the cops. I even needed a tow truck after running a stop sign, which was partially obscured by a tree.
When my mom showed up to assess the damage, I handed her my driver’s license, tears streaming down my face. “Here, take it. Clearly, I’m not cut out for driving.”
She pointed at the license. “Put this back in your wallet and don’t you ever say that again.” Her tone softened. “Now, let’s deal with the car.”
My family often recounts the story of the time my dad bought a brand new pickup truck with a manual shift on the column, fully aware that my mom didn’t know how to drive it. Instead of backing down, she taught herself, driven by stubbornness and an “I’ll show you” attitude.
For her, a car represented control, safety, and freedom. It meant never being trapped, either physically or metaphorically. She may not have turned me into the best driver, but she instilled in me the values of perseverance, independence, and the importance of fighting for what matters.
In my senior year, my mom gifted me a ’79 Monte Carlo. I took it with me when I left home that summer, and for the next five years, I drove it back and forth on Interstate 10 to work and college, windows down, hair flying, always focused on the road ahead.
If you’re interested in more stories about parenting and life lessons, check out this blog post on home insemination, an equally important topic. And for those considering starting a family, ACOG provides excellent resources on treating infertility.
Summary
Driving lessons with my mom were filled with challenges and life lessons that went beyond just mastering a vehicle. From her determination to teach me how to drive a manual transmission to instilling values of independence and perseverance, those experiences shaped who I am today. Eventually, I took my first car, a ’79 Monte Carlo, on countless adventures, embracing the freedom of the open road.