Small Town Therapist on Things That I Learned the Hard Way

 

Learning to drive a car.

My father was supposed to teach me to drive.  For my teaching experience he started with “do as I say not as I do”. This was in fact the truth because he'd learned on a clutch and acquired the habit very ingrained in him that he drove an automatic car with both feet. Not exactly safe. Then he read the paper as I drove. Hmmm. I flunked my first attempt at a license but in my defense, I had just turned 16, it was November in Chicago and I attempted the test in horrible conditions. Despite those rather lame instructions I managed to pass the second time on our automatic car. Lesson learned, don't make things harder for yourself. unless absolutely necessary.

Driving a 'clutch' car from Fox Lake to Glencoe, Il. 

 at a dance

At 18, I was working two jobs, one at our restaurant as a waitress and the other at a ‘Sheltered Workshop-Little City” in Palatine, Il. as a camp counselor.  This establishment housed children put in this home by their parents. It was progressive for its time: a working farm which the ‘kids’ helped run. These were Downs Syndrome kids, kids with birth defects and some who were severely developmentally disabled. I loved them and I loved the job. I say “kids” because I was 18 and most of my patients were in their twenties and thirties. Since I needed a car, my father drove me out to the car dealership he owned with Frank Kelly in Fox Lake, Il. Then they gave me a very old, used Corvair---and it came with a stick shift. Oh, no. The car was a gift and I didn't think I could refuse. I had only one lesson. Frank drove me, then put me in the driver's seat as we 'drove' [I use that word loosely] around the area for about 10 minutes. I was awful at it but encouragingly Frank claimed, “you’ll get used to it, it’s just like dancing”. Fat chance unless you consider a rumble or slipping repeatedly on ice--- dancing. I left the dealership from Fox Lake to home in Glencoe. I rocked, hopped, stalled, rolled and was humiliated as I drove by various construction workers who roared with laughter as I passed by various construction sites. What I thought was 100 miles, it certainly felt like it, was in fact 33 miles to Glencoe. Humiliation added the extra 67 miles. Would it surprise you to learn I needed a new clutch in only one month? 

Here's the thoughts in retrospect: why didn't I stop and ask for help? Here's my excuse, I was terrified. Being a small blond teenager I'd really didn't relish asking a stranger for help. Why didn't I call my Mom or Dad? You probably know the answer that just wasn't an option. They weren't cruel but they were very busy with four kids under the age of 16 and the family restaurant and would never consider rescuing me. But did I even ask for help or encouragement? No, it never occurred to me. Why, you might ask didn't I think it was funny at the time? Humiliation does tend to get in the way of a good belly laugh. Besides it makes a great story in retrospect. Lesson learned--keep calm and salvage your sense of humor.

Drive I did and finally got to the point where it felt natural and even like dancing to use the clutch.  That month later, when I was coming home from Little City the clutch went out in front of a small real estate office. Then I couldn't drive. I did go ask for help. Interestingly the young man in the office who helped me [I think we pushed the car to the side of the road together] drove me home then asked me for a date. Out of obligation I did go out with him once but see, you never know.... 

What did I learn the hard way? To figure out what was safe, stop and ask for help. Now many decades later this is automatic, I never clutch.

susansmagicfeather 2023 Susan R. Grout