I think I'm approximately 27 years old. (I'm pretty sure. But I really do forget sometimes. So let's just go with 27, give or take a year). Anyway, I'm somewhere between the ages of 26 and 28, and I don't have a driver's license. That's the point I'm getting at.
I recently embarked on a journey to obtain one of these things. And by recently I mean about 5 years ago. I want to tell you the story of this journey, but before I do, I should tell you some of the steps that led up to it.
If, as you and I have so far assumed, I am indeed most probably 27 years old, that means I am 11 years past the age at which most people get their licenses. The reason most people get their licenses at 16 is because that is the earliest age allowed by law, and most people want their license at the earliest possible age they can have it. This was not the case with me.
Call it weird, but I just didn't have that itch. Call it fear, more accurately. The thought of driving scared the piss out of me, which is a terrible thing to happen to you while you're driving because there isn't much you can do about it. Everyone seems to think a guy should drive a car so he can take girls on dates, but if you pee your pants on the way to pick her up, it automatically negates all other potential benefits.
What kept me from driving wasn't just the thought of my rampant absent-mindedness resulting in the death of one or more other human beings, including-but-not-limited-to myself. That was part of it, but I was also a very inert adolescent. I didn't do things that I didn't feel like doing, and most things happened to fall into that category of "Things I Don't Feel Like Doing."
I finished high school with no license. I entered college with no license. Didn't want one, didn't need one, didn't care. Charles Gravely and I had some conversations that went like this:
Charles: Ken, I think you should try to get your driver's license.
Me: Meh.
Charles: Seriously Ken, as your brother in Christ and as someone who you trust to challenge you and encourage you toward spiritual maturity, I think getting your driver's license would be an important step. It's like a rite of passage in our culture.
Me: I definitely see your point . . . but . . . meh.
Charles's prodding must've been somewhat effective though because a few summers later, I started learning how to drive. I drove my friend's truck, stick shift and all, up and down a long gravel road a few times and I thought I was ready. So then I went and took the test in my mom's van, and I failed. I kept turning into other lanes of traffic. The instructor was really friendly at first, so I thought I was doing well. She preceded to ask me kindly if I was nervous, and when I replied, "very," Satan entered her and she barked, "WELL YOU'RE ABOUT TO FAIL YOUR TEST!" And that would have helped me out a lot, except for the fact that it didn't.
She told me to turn left at the next light. So I put my left blinker on and waited for the light to turn green. When it did, I turned right. She said, "What are you doing? I told you to turn LEFT! Pull over into this parking lot. I'll drive us back to the DMV."
If my confidence could be compared to a baby bird in a jungle, fluttering it's little wings and hopping around on the ground, that experience was like a tree falling on top of the bird. And that instructor was the lumberjack that fell the freakin' thing. She fell the tree; she failed me.
So what do you do when you fall off a horse? Well, you get back on and try again, five years later. Charles Gravely (the same one I mentioned earlier) got married to another good friend of mine, Amanda J (btw, they have a blog, too). They recently decided to give me Amanda's old 1990 Chevy Lumina. Yes, you read that right, they GAVE it to me. They decided they didn't need the car, and though they very well could have sold it and used the money for their soon-coming stint as campus missionaries in Belgium, they determined in their godly, giant hearts to just bless me with it.
Before making it official though, we mutually agreed it would be best for me to obtain my license first. So, with my hand forced in the most gracious way, I got back on the horse. I got my permit renewed, and I started driving the Lumina everywhere. Most of the time I would get my licensed friends to ride shotgun, and on a few occasions I even drove it by myself (until Amanda found out one day and politely requested that I immediately cease and desist that particular habit).
For the first time in my life, I actually started to feel good about driving. I felt natural behind the wheel. Not to the point of arrogance; I just started to feel like I could react calmly and reasonably should something unexpected happen on the road. So, me and my most frequent traveling buddy, Lance Dunn, planned an excursion to the DMV. We went, waited for my number to be called, filled out the paper work, etc. I was a little nervous, but overall I had a pretty good feeling that I was about to finally get this thing over with. The instructor and I walked out to the car, and as she does the routine inspection of headlights and such, we discover, oops, my back left turn signal isn't working! I can't take the test!!!
I was overwhelmed with frustration and disappointment, but I felt better when Lance and I went to KFC and got some comfort food. I got a filet of fish, which actually tasted oddly similar to chicken, fried in fish fry. Oh well, meat is meat. I ate it, along with 3 biscuits and some potato wedges, washed it down with a Pepsi, then got up and ordered some fiery hot wings for dessert. Ah, much better.
So what happened next? And am I ever going to get my daggum license?!?! Hate to leave you on a cliffhanger, but I will answer those questions in the next installment, to be posted tomorrow. = )
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