I will never ever ever forget the first time I got behind a wheel of a car. Or in this case, a very very large truck. It was my Dad's 1980 something Ford truck that he used for work. It was big and brown but looked a little like this one:
I had just gotten my driving permit and I was nagging my dad to take me out driving. He tossed me his truck keys and said here, just go practice in the driveway for awhile. Sounds weird but if you'd seen our place we had a really long driveway. Our property used to be a farm so there was four acres of land and my dad had poured a long concrete driveway that went to the main road. The driveway also went down to the barn--this big stone and brick building that use to be used for farming but now housed my dad's trucks, trailers, and tractors etc. for his construction business. I, of course, took his keys and raced outside to start driving.
I climbed into the driver's seat of that big truck and sat there. I knew the keys went into the ignition but I wasn't sure how to make the truck start. I saw my brother outside so I rolled down the window and yelled:
Me: Hey, how do you turn this thing on?
Him: Huh? Seriously?
Me: (eye roll). Yeah, just tell me!
Him: Turn the key clockwise.
I did and the truck started right up. Whee! Then, um, now what. So I yell out the window again.
Me: Hey, what do I do?
Him: What are you doing exactly?
Me: Shut up, Dad said I could drive in the driveway.
Him: Press the gas.
Me: Which one is the gas?
Him: Ok, get out of the truck...
Me: No!!!! Dad said I could! Just tell me where the gas is!
Him: (hesitant) Push down the one on the right.
Me: I can't reach it.
Him: Get out of the car.
Me: No, I'll just scoot all the way forward.
I press on the gas and I was off. And it was awesome! For about twenty seconds until I decided to go do a loop around the barn. And crashed right into it on my left. And kept going. The scraping must have been loud because my dad came running out. I made it back up the driveway and turned the truck off. My dad and brother started yelling at me and I gave my dad the keys while he checked the damage (the whole left side of the truck was dented in). My brother stopped me on my way back to the house.
Him: I don't understand why you didn't stop when you hit. Why did you keep going?
Me: You didn't tell me where the brake was!
Kristina, Miss Author in Action
1 comment:
Tina, you are freaking awesome. Considering I didn't hit 5'2" until my senior year of high school, I can remember being shocked too. "I can move this seat up? Why didn't anyone tell me that?"
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