Automatic Driving License
Mon., October 27, 01:46 PM
Last week I mentioned that my auto insurer made the stupid assumption that my driving history must be my age minus 16. Wrong! My old insurance company – which had the correct information – was sold to a big well-respected company that so far can’t (1) credit a payment within two weeks or (2) copy the information an the declaration sheet. I knew there was a reason I dropped them twenty years ago.
Did you get your driver’s license when you turned sixteen? Did you know how to drive even before that? It is automatic now, and it’s more than just a convenience, since public transportation is less than dependable.
Driving at sixteen was common fifty years ago too, but it didn’t happen to me. When I was twelve or so, my father agreed that it was worth the money for me to take a few driving lessons when I turned sixteen. As I got older, he wasn’t so sure. By the time I was actually sixteen, the answer was a firm “no.” I was hurt, but I also did as I was told.
I always thought my dad should have understood better. He had been driving at ten, because he understood the car better than his father. The policeman told my grandmother, “just keep him off the streets.” He could still start the car better than my grandfather, who once broke an arm trying to crank the motor. (If they hadn’t invented automatic ignitions, it might have taken another fifty years for women to be able to drive! Cranking was hard work.)
When my brother turned sixteen, he got his license! My father had no objections, because “it’s different for a boy.” That really hurt, but I understood how my father thought. I could take driver’s education if they offered it in high school, but I would not be allowed to get my license. (And let me tell you, in our school, driver’s ed was useless.)
When my sister got to driving age, my father again said no license. She sneaked a couple of lessons on her own and then announced to my parents, “I have no more money; you’ll have to give me some so I can finish taking the lessons.” They were so proud of her, because she had the courage to go ahead when they said no. One more lesson for the “obedient” kid to remember: learn to value your kids for what they are.
I was working by that time, but I wasn’t making enough to afford driving lessons. I was completely dependent on (1) the bus; (2) my own two feet; or (3) finding someone to take me. Very often that was my sister, just another bitter pill to swallow.
I must have had some tendency toward Jonah methods even then. If I remained in Stamford, then I needed to drive my own car. I couldn’t get my license, let alone a car, and I was never the kind of person who was willing to go into debt. However, did I need to remain in Stamford? And so I set my sights on Manhattan, even though I had to spend a couple of years riding the trains to work until I saved enough to move there. Manhattan had dependable buses and subways; furthermore, I could walk almost anywhere I wanted to go.
I stayed in Manhattan until I got married and came to New Haven. I either walked to the store or waited till the weekend when my husband would drive. We talked about his teaching me so that I could look for a job, and then I became pregnant.
I’m not very good at being pregnant, even though I always had nice babies. I was always nauseated and sleepy for three months, and bulky and uncomfortable after that. (I figure that out of twenty-eight months of pregnancy, I had two or three good months.) And then I was surrounded by babies. Driving lessons were not an option.
I did a lot of walking – including three quarters of a mile each way to take the kids to school – until I got to a point where the choices were ridiculous. I took lessons and became a licensed operator at the ripe old age of thirty-seven.
In case you’re wondering, my kids didn’t start driving at sixteen either. I was happy to drive them anywhere beyond walking distance. Both of my daughters bought their own driving lessons when they felt it was necessary. It costs more to insure boys, and I told my son I could either insure him or send him to college, but I could not do both. He chose college. He knew how to drive, and it was legal for him to do so with a licensed parent in the car. Husband would let him drive the seventy miles or so to college; I did not. However, I was often happy to have him maneuver in and out of tight spaces, because his added height makes it easier for him.
I bought him his license for his twentieth birthday. Birthday presents are important. That was eleven years ago. Happy birthday, grown-up Son.
