Driving in my car

The title of this post is inspired by the song ‘Driving in my car’ from Mother Goose club, that I have heard about…oh…let’s say 9 billion times.?
It haunts me in my sleep.

I got my permit to drive when we lived in New Mexico, when I was 16 years old. Just a few months before I could get my licence, we moved back to Belgium.

So I had to start all over.

I will say nothing about how totally unfair it was, since my brother and sister had got their license by driving to and from the gas station down the road from the ‘exam center’. And their licence was traded in for a Belgian one with no problem. They were even allowed to drive a truck.?
I will not mention the fact that my sister learned to drive automatic ?in the states, and that in Belgium people drive stick shift. Therefore, she got a licence but couldn’t drive. I will say nothing about all that.?

But there you had it. Me, the poor middle child or somewhere in the middle anyway, had to start all over. I did my theoretical exam and since my boyfriend was 8 years older then me, he was allowed to be my ‘instructor’. He’d had his license for 11 years.
I will not mention that I had to retake my exam 3 times before passing. That would be to embarrasing, you know, to put that on the internet.

Behold here, the banner my siblings made for me when I finally passed. I know. I’m real popular.

The first 500 times I drove, I insisted on practicing on a little road behind my parents house, and I got a stroke every time I had to pass a biker, a pedestrian, or another car. I gave them sound scoldings from inside the safety of the metal bomb that was my car, about how they shouldn’t come anywhere near the place where I was driving.

After a while, my very lovely boyfriend tricked me into driving on the big road. I nearly died. But eventually, I got the hang of it. I refused to take the interstate, however.?Until he tricked me into doing that, as well.

I begged every light to stay green because if it turned red, I had to change gears, brake, stop the car, start again. And that was so hard to do.

That is all ages ago. Back when I ws still young and inexperienced. Like 3 years ago. A lifetime ago, I could say if I were Gabriel’s age. I quickly got my licence before my permit expiered, all round and pregnant with my second.

Today I was fondly reminiscing about that time. I sat behind my steering wheel with my three sons in the car, and held the wheel with one hand, turned with my hands on top of the wheel.?
Back when I was a newbie driver, I anxiously held on to the steering wheel with my hands on the exact right places, where the book said they should be.
I didn’t get how Mike had the guts to not do that.

Now I’m way cool. Suave. The wheel glides through my hands, I hold it with one hand (look mom, I’m driving with one hand!) and I don’t think about changing gears anymore.

I will always hate city-dirving, though. It is bad for my heart.