My dad tried teaching me to drive when I was a teen, I suspect mostly to get a relief driver on our long trips through California. He’d have me drive on truly frightening roads up the west coast, like where Highway 1 clung to high cliffs and a false turn meant certain death as you plunged off the road into the Pacific. I gave up on driving for years because he was not a good teacher. His rebuffs were severe and I didn’t take criticism well. When I graduated from high school and headed north to Humboldt State College I still didn’t drive, even when I moved out of town and had to hitchhike to school or to work. I had friends that drove me places at night. It wasn’t until I was in my late 20s and I met my wife that I learned to drive. When I finally got my license, and drove her ‘57 Chevy home, I was so proud and so excited that I was driving that I got a speeding ticket. And so it goes.
When you fought with your father, you were actually bonding! He knew that and admired the strength of character that could match his. He always knew you loved him, he always knew you would love driving. Thanks for your story, I may send it on to my non-driving thirty year old daughter living in Brooklyn. I think she blames my nerves for her anxiety about driving - though I clearly remember her saying pedestrians should see her coming, during a high school driving practice!
My dad tried teaching me to drive when I was a teen, I suspect mostly to get a relief driver on our long trips through California. He’d have me drive on truly frightening roads up the west coast, like where Highway 1 clung to high cliffs and a false turn meant certain death as you plunged off the road into the Pacific. I gave up on driving for years because he was not a good teacher. His rebuffs were severe and I didn’t take criticism well. When I graduated from high school and headed north to Humboldt State College I still didn’t drive, even when I moved out of town and had to hitchhike to school or to work. I had friends that drove me places at night. It wasn’t until I was in my late 20s and I met my wife that I learned to drive. When I finally got my license, and drove her ‘57 Chevy home, I was so proud and so excited that I was driving that I got a speeding ticket. And so it goes.
When you fought with your father, you were actually bonding! He knew that and admired the strength of character that could match his. He always knew you loved him, he always knew you would love driving. Thanks for your story, I may send it on to my non-driving thirty year old daughter living in Brooklyn. I think she blames my nerves for her anxiety about driving - though I clearly remember her saying pedestrians should see her coming, during a high school driving practice!
A beautiful piece. I do remember reading your father's reviews in the New York Post in the 70s.
Lovely piece, Maya
Very moving Maya! Thank you for sharing such a generous piece of your story 🫶🏽
I can relate. I grew up in New York City. Lots of people there go all their lives without driving. I got a license at 27.
Just caught up with this now. Lovely piece! Brings to mind a short blog post of mine, same topic but it was my mom, not my dad, who helped me: https://elliepresner.com/2015/07/20/learning-to-drive-again-thanks-ma/
This is a beautiful story about the imperfection of family bonds and how in the end it doesn’t matter. There is love.