The car we used was a generous loan from my grandmother, my mom’s mother-in-law. This behemoth measured roughly 900 feet long and lacked air conditioning, making our drives an adventure in hot, windy chaos. With all the windows rolled down, the gusts whipped our hair into a wild mess.
In the backseat was a rear-facing position that my cousins adored, but I loathed. I wanted to see where we were headed, not where we had been. We affectionately named the car “La Bamba,” not for its lively dance, but because it felt like a clunker.
Whenever my mom dropped me off at school, she would stop at the end of the long circular driveway, fully aware of my disdain for the car and what it represented. The first vehicle she acquired after her divorce was a secondhand ‘79 Mercury Cougar, clad in white with maroon pleather seats, often leaving us stranded due to a faulty alternator. It was in this car that my mom decided it was time for me to learn to drive.
The first time I attempted to back down the driveway at my grandparents’ house, the back wheels ended up firmly lodged in the shallow drainage ditch across the street. “Mom, this is pointless. I’ll never learn to drive,” I exclaimed. “Yes, you will. Pull forward and try again,” she insisted. She made me practice until I mastered the art of turning the steering wheel correctly to align with the street.
During my sophomore year, my mom purchased a brand-new, bright blue Toyota Corolla—her first new car bought entirely on her own. Her excitement was palpable as she jumped out of the car in front of our small apartment. “Come on! Let’s go for a ride!” she exclaimed, dancing around the vehicle. My skin tingled with her electric enthusiasm as I slid into the front seat, only to realize in horror that she had chosen a stick shift.
“Uh, Mom, this car is a manual,” I stammered. “I know!” she replied with glee. “Isn’t it fantastic?” Having only driven the automatic Cougar, I felt completely unprepared for this new challenge. “But I don’t know how to drive a stick,” I protested. “Don’t worry! I’m going to teach you. Every girl should know how to drive a standard,” she asserted, sharing a news report about a girl who was kidnapped, emphasizing the need for self-sufficiency.
My lessons began immediately. Although I mostly learned how to handle a manual transmission, my relationship with the speedy blue Corolla was tumultuous. I once scraped the side against a guardrail while reversing, and another time, I knocked off part of the bumper after crashing into a fence. I also damaged the passenger side after pulling out in front of a group of guys who had no interest in me calling the cops. Eventually, I damaged it enough to require a tow truck after running a stop sign—though in my defense, a tree had obscured it.
When my mom arrived to assess the damage, I handed her my driver’s license, my face stained with tears. “What’s this?” she asked, her disappointment evident. “My license. Clearly, I shouldn’t be driving,” I responded. She pointed at the card, her voice stern yet softening. “Put this back in your wallet and don’t you ever say that again. Now, let’s fix the car.”
My family often recounts the tale of when my dad bought a brand-new pickup truck with a manual transmission, knowing my mom didn’t know how to drive it. True to her stubborn nature, she taught herself how to navigate that truck with sheer determination and a fierce spirit.
For my mother, driving symbolized control over one’s path, safety, and freedom. It meant never ending up in a trunk or feeling trapped at home. While she may not have made me the best driver, she instilled in me the values of persistence, independence, and the importance of fighting for what matters.
In my senior year, my mom gifted me a ‘79 Monte Carlo. That summer, I took it with me and drove it back and forth along Interstate 10 for five years, windows down, hair flying, always focused on the road ahead.
This article was originally published on May 25, 2015.
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Summary:
This heartfelt narrative recounts the author’s journey of learning to drive alongside her determined mother, showcasing the challenges and lessons learned through various vehicles, including a clunky Mercury Cougar and a spirited blue Toyota Corolla. The story emphasizes themes of independence, resilience, and the importance of mastering skills for personal empowerment.