OC HIGH : Driving: Take 2 : Fear Steers, but a Hero Is an Arm’s Length Away

As I sat in the little gray Nissan, I trembled nervously, listening to my driving instructor brief me on what each thing was and its function. The sky gleamed a dull gray from the covering clouds.

Silently I seethed. If only my mom had let me practice before instruction! Of course, she didn’t. She wouldn’t dare let me touch the steering wheel, much less drive. “But that’s the purpose of the permit--to practice!” I wailed, but to no avail.

So with no experience whatsoever (Autopia and bumper cars don’t count), I sat before my driving instructor. My utter naivete shone in my eyes. Crawling at 5 m.p.h., I spent my first half-hour executing U-turns, wincing as I nearly knocked down garbage cans and relishing the faint praise each time I succeeded.

“On to the neighborhood,” declared my instructor grandly. With my brain filled with bloody images of sprawled corpses and smashed cars, I gripped the steering wheel and then puzzled which way to push the signal lever.

Thus did the driver’s training go--with me quivering in fear in my seat and him speaking in that annoying, smooth tone. And in the process, there were actually times that I relaxed a bit and lessened my death grip to more of a stranglehold on the steering wheel.

Only now do I appreciate my driving instructor. Sure, he spoke condescendingly to me, and yes, I felt like a 2-year-old. But the immense courage it takes to go driving with people in the state of mind that I was in truly boggles the mind. Although he did have a brake on his side of the car, it presented no great defense against a car quickly turned into a tree, a post, small children, Fluffy or Rover.

To find heroes in this day, one need look only to the little driving school across the way. There one can locate men and women who put their lives on the line each day. Adventure and danger come as a regular part of the job. In one reckless ride or sharp turn, their lives could be irreversibly changed. They could certainly die, become paralyzed, lose mental capacities or even a limb or two.

I imagine with each student they scrutinize and silently question: “Is this the one?” Not to criticize the driving skills of teen-agers in general. I’m just trying to point out that there are those who are reckless, and then those like me: terrified.

My driver’s training did not stop at neighborhoods. We drove busy streets, highways and freeways. I hate to recall all the times my instructor braked hard, and even took hold of the steering wheel. But by the end of those exhausting six hours behind the wheel, I felt as if I had accomplished something.

Ever seen those ads that say, “Not all heroes wear athletic shoes?” Well, I dare to say that driving instructors are real-life heroes. Policemen aren’t the only ones who put their lives on the line for their jobs. Instructors put their lives at risk to teach one of the most basic needs, for Californians, at least--how to drive. Also, I challenge the stereotype of the wimpy driving instructor so often portrayed in movies. I think that the screenwriters ought to sit in the proverbial “passenger seat” for a couple of miles and see how calm and collected they’d be after a swerve to two.

So whether you saunter or hesitantly walk toward a driving instructor before stepping into the car, remember to visualize your instructor in a dashing red cape and assure him or her with a smile.