What learning to drive teaches us about life

A petition has been launched to get driving on the national curriculum, and I don’t know how successful it will be, but if I’d had to learn at school, perhaps everything would be different – driving would be in my genes.
I only learned to drive a few years ago. Although I am far more well-adjusted than I was at 17, I never feel like I am really “a driver”. I am pretending to be one, like McDonald’s apple pies pretend to be apple pies. I am a fraud.
I once stalled so many times at a green light on the Walworth Road that the cycle went back round to red, then when I finally managed to move off, I mounted the pavement in joy and ran over a carrier bag full of trainers. But then I passed. I passed first time. I fear that the reason I can’t make the final leap to being “a driver” is that my boyfriend is usually in the car with me, and he’s been driving for absolutely ages. “Don’t say anything,” I say as I pull out. “A sharp intake of breath is the same as saying something!” I snap 10 seconds later.
We settle on him making one point about my driving every five minutes – that way he has to choose what to mention. I ruin the arrangement by panicking about what lane to be in, then tell him, when he quietly answers that I’m in the right lane, that he’s used up one of his five-minute interjections. I can never remember what petrol the car takes – he’s told me so many times that it’s become like when someone’s called either Anne-Marie or Anna-Marie and it will forever remain a mystery, like the pyramids. I know it’s either diesel or not diesel. I was once on my 13th attempt at parallel parking on our street when my neighbour came out to offer help, only for my boyfriend’s head to pop up from the back seat – at my behest he was ducking down with his head in his hands and his eyes scrunched closed so as not to be coerced into helping.
It all reached a bit of a head last week, when we managed to have a heated dispute about whether it was raining which lasted three junctions of the M4. “You don’t need the back wipers on. It damages the glass when it’s not raining.” “Well isn’t it lucky it’s raining then.” And so on.
    theguardian

 

What learning to drive teaches us about life

A petition has been launched to get driving on the national curriculum, and I dont know how successful it will be, but if Id had to learn at school, perhaps everything would be different driving would be in my genes. I only learned to drive a few years ago. Although I am far more well-adjusted than I was at 17, I never feel like I am really a driver. I am pretending to be one, like McDonalds apple pies pretend to be apple pies. I am a fraud. I once stalled so many times at a green light on the Walworth Road that the cycle went back round to red, then when I finally managed to move off, I mounted the pavement in joy and ran over a carrier bag full of trainers. But then I passed. I passed first time. I fear that the reason I cant make the final leap to being a driver is that my boyfriend is usually in the car with me, and hes been driving for absolutely ages. Dont say anything, I say as I pull out. A sharp intake of breath is the same as saying something! I snap 10 seconds later. We settle on him making one point about my driving every five minutes that way he has to choose what to mention. I ruin the arrangement by panicking about what lane to be in, then tell him, when he quietly answers that Im in the right lane, that hes used up one of his five-minute interjections. I can never remember what petrol the car takes hes told me so many times that its become like when someones called either Anne-Marie or Anna-Marie and it will forever remain a mystery, like the pyramids. I know its either diesel or not diesel. I was once on my 13th attempt at parallel parking on our street when my neighbour came out to offer help, only for my boyfriends head to pop up from the back seat at my behest he was ducking down with his head in his hands and his eyes scrunched closed so as not to be coerced into helping. It all reached a bit of a head last week, when we managed to have a heated dispute about whether it was raining which lasted three junctions of the M4. You dont need the back wipers on. It damages the glass when its not raining. Well isnt it lucky its raining then. And so on. theguardian