It was the story my brother told about teaching my sister how to drive a stick shift, that got him into the mess in the first place. I had to have been fourteen or fifteen when he told us about my sister popping a wheelie on a tractor, nearly knocking him off, when he agreed to teach her how to drive a stick. Now why they were on a tractor is beyond me, but it was after that story I decided that I wanted to learn how to drive a stick, it can’t be that hard, right?
That was rhetorical.
I remember the color drained from his face when I asked him if he’d teach me, the apparent flash backs of his previous lesson still haunted him. He didn’t say no. He thought about it, I saw it crawl across his face. But he agreed.
At the time he had the pink car, before you ask, I don’t know why he had a pink car; he just did. My only interest in it, was that it was a stick. So off we go, to learn how to drive ‘stick’. He got in the driver’s seat first, we rode up and down the road once and he explained how it worked. Clutch, brake, gas, first, second, third, reverse; got it.
He parked on the middle of our hill and switch with me. When I got behind the wheel he said, “If you can get it off this hill, you can drive a stick.”
Alright, Master Po, not sure why you got so deep there all of a sudden but relax, I got this. Clutch in, first gear, started the engine and off we went. I glanced over at my brother who had a death grip on the ‘oh crap’ handle. His expression at first was astonishment that we were moving and then terror, because—we were moving. I drove it all the way to the end of our road switching gears, never grinded, didn’t stall, and I reversed back.
I think my brother felt the impending doom coming, he wanted to end it quickly so it could end on a good note. I couldn’t for the life of me figure out why he was so stiff. It wasn’t like I was blazing down the road. My sisters house was located right in the middle of the road we were driving on.
“Okay, park it at her (my sister’s) house,” he told me, pushing his imaginary brake.
I wasn’t even going that fast, I was only in second. My sister’s driveway had two huge azalea bushes on each side of the entrance, you could fit three or more (if you’re good) cars in the driveway then.
“Alright, “ I was a little disappointed the lesson was ending so soon. Maybe later, he’d teach me more.
“You need to slow down,” my brother warned.
I’m on it, I’ve pulled into this driveway a few times in my life; I think I’d know how to do it by now.
Clarification: I knew how to in an automatic.
As I got closer to the driveway, I pressed down on the brake, but the car wasn’t slowing down.
“You need to slow down,” my brother yelled.
I pressed down even harder this time, nothing. Panicked, I stomped down on the brake forgetting to turn the wheel all the way. We careened headfirst into one of those azalea bushes. Coming to a dead stop, we both bounced forward and then back.
My brother was not amused, “Okay, get out.”
Why didn’t the brake work? Confused, I looked down to discover my foot wasn’t on the brake but the clutch. Ah.
That ended all future lessons. Oops.
That was rhetorical.
I remember the color drained from his face when I asked him if he’d teach me, the apparent flash backs of his previous lesson still haunted him. He didn’t say no. He thought about it, I saw it crawl across his face. But he agreed.
At the time he had the pink car, before you ask, I don’t know why he had a pink car; he just did. My only interest in it, was that it was a stick. So off we go, to learn how to drive ‘stick’. He got in the driver’s seat first, we rode up and down the road once and he explained how it worked. Clutch, brake, gas, first, second, third, reverse; got it.
He parked on the middle of our hill and switch with me. When I got behind the wheel he said, “If you can get it off this hill, you can drive a stick.”
Alright, Master Po, not sure why you got so deep there all of a sudden but relax, I got this. Clutch in, first gear, started the engine and off we went. I glanced over at my brother who had a death grip on the ‘oh crap’ handle. His expression at first was astonishment that we were moving and then terror, because—we were moving. I drove it all the way to the end of our road switching gears, never grinded, didn’t stall, and I reversed back.
I think my brother felt the impending doom coming, he wanted to end it quickly so it could end on a good note. I couldn’t for the life of me figure out why he was so stiff. It wasn’t like I was blazing down the road. My sisters house was located right in the middle of the road we were driving on.
“Okay, park it at her (my sister’s) house,” he told me, pushing his imaginary brake.
I wasn’t even going that fast, I was only in second. My sister’s driveway had two huge azalea bushes on each side of the entrance, you could fit three or more (if you’re good) cars in the driveway then.
“Alright, “ I was a little disappointed the lesson was ending so soon. Maybe later, he’d teach me more.
“You need to slow down,” my brother warned.
I’m on it, I’ve pulled into this driveway a few times in my life; I think I’d know how to do it by now.
Clarification: I knew how to in an automatic.
As I got closer to the driveway, I pressed down on the brake, but the car wasn’t slowing down.
“You need to slow down,” my brother yelled.
I pressed down even harder this time, nothing. Panicked, I stomped down on the brake forgetting to turn the wheel all the way. We careened headfirst into one of those azalea bushes. Coming to a dead stop, we both bounced forward and then back.
My brother was not amused, “Okay, get out.”
Why didn’t the brake work? Confused, I looked down to discover my foot wasn’t on the brake but the clutch. Ah.
That ended all future lessons. Oops.
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