A TEENAGER TAKES THE WHEEL

                                        

It was already dark when we passed through the state border separating Texas and Oklahoma. In those days, more than 50 years ago, you could definitely tell the difference in the quality of the highways. At least, Dad would declare how terrible the Oklahoma roads were each time we traveled to my maternal grandparents' house near Shidler, Oklahoma. It was always a source of laughter in our family. My dad loved to brag about the superiority of all things about Texas instead of the inferiority of all things about Oklahoma. I don't know if my beloved Oklahoma relatives thought this was funny, but HE certainly thought it was hilarious. And honestly, with him gone from this world for over 2 years, it's one of those sweet, insignificant memories that creep up when driving by yourself on some Texas backroad. (Today, any Texas backroad is a hundred times better than the best Oklahoma highway––she says with a wink and a nod to her father and an apology to her dear Oklahoma relatives)

I must have been at least age 15, if not 16, when I begged my father to let me drive on the trip to Oklahoma. I needed the practice, and sitting in the back seat can get mighty dull in an 8-hour drive. Besides, my younger brother, Tim, had finally discovered that cows weren't horses, even though we teased him about it unmercifully on the numerous road trips we took all those years ago. When we didn't have him to tease, we made a game of naming the year, make, and model of all the oncoming cars. Even today, I'm pretty good at identifying automobiles from 50 years ago. Sadly, those old autos are rarely seen these days. Cars designed and manufactured in those days were far more beautiful than we have today.

It's unbelievable that Dad would permit me to take the lives of our family into my inexperienced hands, but he did anyway. It's only today that I suddenly connected two memories of him––he had the same kind of patience with me when we started playing golf thirty years later.

The Texas and Oklahoma roads of yesteryear mainly were two lanes with numerous potholes. Even an experienced driver would find them challenging. I remember being frightened yet hanging onto the steering wheel as if something horrific would happen any minute. So, here I was, living only 15 years on this earth and taking the wheel at night in a 1958 Olds 88––my father's pride and joy.

I'm not too fond of cars behind me, even now when driving at night. This week, I announced to my friends that I would no longer go at night unless it was an emergency. It's not because of the drivers but because of the large population of protected deer wandering Horseshoe Bay's farm roads and streets. I've almost hit about five of them, just in 12 months!

It wasn't long before a chain of cars started closely tailing me, with bright lights flashing furiously in an attempt to pass me or at least get me moving faster. Dad calmly urged me to keep driving and stop worrying about the cars behind us.

I don't remember anyone else talking during my time at the wheel. It was so quiet that you could hear rapid breathing from the back of the car. If my mother and brothers remember it, I'm sure they'd also relate to how scared they were. Nothing terrible happened that night. The experience helped me be a better driver in future years.

Yet, when my daughter started wanting to drive, I declined to teach her and offered her dad instead. I didn't have the nerves or the patience for it. After all, isn't that what fathers are for?

Even though it's too late for my dad to hear and the other dad isn't listening, I'm grateful for their courage in teaching their daughters to drive.