Jonathots Daily Blog
(2399)
(Transcript)
1967.
Fall came. Fall fell.
It seemed to me that the autumn leaves, as they tumbled from the trees, were mocking me for my lack of purpose.
I was bored.
I was also infested by a scratchy discontentment–an itch. I wanted my driver’s license. I was so close.
Even more infuriating was that Jack, from my class, had gotten his license because he’d flunked the sixth grade and was older than the rest of us. Sporting his beat-up Chevy, he drove as a god among us. Suddenly a fellow that normally made the lasses of our class say “yuck” when he walked by was the center of attention from these fair young maidens. Everybody wanted to ride in Jack’s car.
It was aggravating to any young boy in Central Ohio with a shred of dignity and an overabundance of arrogance. That would be me.
I convinced my older brother to take me to a parking lot behind the high school on Sunday afternoons to practice driving, since we knew that the local cop was always at his church teaching the youth group during that time.
The terrifying part of the whole rehearsal was the spectre of having to pass the test on parallel parking. Some local citizen had placed two markers in the back lot by sticking a broomstick in a bucket of cement so that teenagers could put themselves through the paces of trying to place a two-and-a-half ton automobile into the tiny enclosure.
I think what frightened me the most was that I heard through the grapevine that you had to get your tires within six inches of the curb or you would fail. Who could do such a thing? This was a deed more suited for the gods of Chrysler.
But finally, since clocks do move forward, December 18th rolled around and I went to get my license.
As it turned out, I was the last prospect of the day for an instructor who was on his way home to Pennsylvania for Christmas. He was giddy, overjoyed and in a hurry.
The whole test took three-and-a-half minutes–and there was no parallel parking.
Being a stupid teenager, I asked him why we had skipped it. He looked at me, bewildered, like a man who had given a friend a thousand dollars and was wondering why his buddy was commenting on the wrinkles in the bills. He smiled, patted me on the shoulder and said, “Good luck, and drive safely. And Merry Christmas.”
I was a licensed driver. I, too, could be a god–even though it was going to be God Two in our school.
What did I learn during this experience? What lesson concerning worry and trepidation was passed on to me about how life is never what we think it’s going to be?
Well, since I have a tendency to adhere to an unnecessary parcel of negativity, what did I learn?
Not much.
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