Independent driving was a big deal for me. At about 14 I started daydreaming about transportation freedom. A cute car, a bit sporty, with my mix tapes of songs I recorded off the radio, blaring from the stereo, driving with the windows down and the car full of pals, fuzzy pink dice hanging from the rear view mirror. I was ready. Except there was one major obstacle- my Father. I jumped on the train of proving my responsibility and enrolled in drivers ed with my BFF. (And then asked Dad to pay the bill) I remember absolutely nothing about it, except spending large quantities of time getting ready for the classes because they were co-ed. But I passed!!! And was the proudest owner of a drivers license!! My 16th birthday was fast approaching and I was fully expecting to be greeted with a cute little car,all ribbon tied and perched on the driveway. Preferably a convertible, even though I lived in Canada, and top down weather was about 3 weeks a year. I think this just proves a little more , my completely dillusional, teenage state of mind. Anyways- it didn't happen. In fact, even though I had proved to some paid, professional driving expert that I was more then equipped to be trusted with a vehicle solo, my Dad had other ideas. He was 'old school' and under the mindset that everyone should have the ability to drive a standard. What?! Why?!! Do they even make those!!? Well yes, in fact, my Dad was a frugal owner of a 1971 yellow Datsun pickup. It was actually more brown then yellow because of the rust. It was a diesel, and a standard. Lucky me. I have very clear memories of that truck. One driving lesson took place in my elementary school parking lot- of which I nearly shot that truck thru the wall of my third grade classroom. The process of clutch, gas, shift was ridiculous, and on top of that, Dad is well known for his true talent of profanity and crazy expressions all rolled into one frustrated yell. I recall a "bleep bleepity-bleep- A monkey with a shotgun has a better chance at this then you! " Although completely true, it was distracting and I always found myself contemplating the literal image of a monkey and shotgun. I improved enough, that given a life or death situation, I would be able to successfully start, stall, rev, jerk, stall, rev, rev, stall- my way to safety in a standard vehicle. Mission accomplished. A side note- that little Datsun is a true marvel, it withstood the ultimate force of nature. Me.
Anyways, now that that was out of the way I was really ready for my car.
Drum roll please- I was presented with limited access, on a permission only basis, to a 1981 Lincoln Continetal. It was blue. With velvet interior, and bigger then any car I had ever seen. My Dad pronounced it was "Safe" I was pretty sure he picked it out with visions of it going thru the brick wall of the elementary school driven by a monkey. The school wouldn't stand a chance against this thing! I was convinced that he was out to ruin my teenage life. This car was humiliating. I would park in front of the catholic school instead of my high school and walk, in a state of panic that I might be seen. And it was not safe. In fact, I argued more then once that it was unsafe. I found myself many a time, sitting in the very middle of an intersection being honked at because I had no clue I was in the intersection. That's what happens when you are 7 feet from the front end of the car. Like a boat on the ocean, I often found myself sailing down the hiway, completely unaware of how fast I was going. That car sucked out all perspective of real time. It was also rear wheel drive- I mastered the art of spinning cookies in the snow and correcting a fishtail at hiway speeds thanks to that dandy. In the winter months I contemplated wearing a helmet while driving just to up my chances of survival. Parking it was an adventure of it's own. I would have enrolled in CDL training had I known what I was going to be driving. I had a job that only had parallel parking within a 4 block radius. It couldn't be done. I think I was in the best shape of my life AFTER I got my license thanks to all the walking I was doing to accommodate the circumstances of the beast with wheels. I was missing the days of door side drop off. Logan, my brother, who is 15 months my junior, had great appreciation for the 'stinkin'Lincoln" once on the way to school, he decided to roll down the window and use his megaphone siren and demand all other drivers to pull to the right. And they did!!! It is so so hard to try and duck so you aren't seen, and be a safe driver,all at the same time. Logan, who I will admit, was blessed with common sense beyond his years, was also with me the day the Lincoln completely betrayed me. We were downtown, and needed to go to the bank. The bank parking was a tiered underground parking garage. I started to make my way down and Logan proclaimed "this isn't going to work" well too late now!!! Where was that wisdom before I was already committed?? It wasn't too much after that, that we were full on assaulted by a concrete pillar in the parking garage. It smashed right into the right side of the Lincoln, I tried to escape by going reverse, no luck, forward, nothing except a grinding scream and the odd crunch. That pillar was attached to us. I gunned it. And successfully escaped, after dragging the Lincoln's full 11ft length across the pillar. Logan was super helpful and offered tips of wisdom like "I told you so" and "Dad is going to kill you" We arrived home and announced thru my tears, that despite a very very tragic accident, we were alive and well- and that's really what mattered. Dad seemed to find absolutely no comfort in that, and instead wanted to focus on the car, and why on earth I would have thought it would be a good idea to take his beloved Lincoln into a parking garage, and had I ever seen he, or my Mom go into that garage? My punishment was a really long lecture, and his refusal to get me a new, normal sized car, and to top it all off, he also wasn't going to be fixing the Lincoln. So now my misfourtune was going to be on display for all to see!! Unjust. This wasn't the last of the Lincoln trying to detroy my life, it once seeked out the newest, most exspensive SUV in another parking lot, and clipped it's rear end, smashing taillights and a bumper that cost more than all of my Christmases combined. And to avoid insurance we took the owner of that fancy car to lunch to settle things out. After the meal I pointed out that at least Dad met a new friend. He didn't see that as a positive. Such an anti-social. My Lincoln years did end happily. The day I bought my own compact car, with only 2 doors, with 5 speed manual transmission, paid for with my own hard earned money, I hung my fuzzy dice in the mirror and was thankful for the Lincoln for treating me so poorly, it taught me a lot. Thanks Dad.
