I was 17 when I learned to drive. That’s a little bit on the old side, especially for someone from my generation.
But for some reason, I just wasn’t in a huge hurry. And after a rather adventurous experience with my older brother learning to drive, my parents weren’t in a hurry either.
Heh.
At any rate, I know the first time I drove was on a spring or summer evening, in our neighborhood, with my dad, in our Plymouth K-car.
(Off-white, four door station wagon, with wood paneling down the sides. The below photo from this site is the closest thing I can find!)
The main thing I can remember from this virgin outing is that I did not exceed 15 miles per hour for the entire time we were out.
I know some people just throw their kids behind the wheel and take them right out onto the beltway, but I’m really glad my first experience was neighborhood streets instead!
I was 13 — it was a 1978 Ford half-ton crew cab pickup, red and white — on a red dirt road in eastern New Mexico. We’d just come from a wheat field and there was an ant in the back seat with the younger siblings, and I fully turned around to inspect the proceedings there and Mom freaked out. Rightfully so.
Isn’t it interesting how car tastes evolve? I wonder when the wood panels will revive again and whether they’ll be a more durable fashion than the short run on the PT Cruiser.
Oh wow, 13! You had me beat by a long shot.
And, my sister says I more likely was 11. This totally could be. I didn’t think my youngest sister was born yet, but 11 didn’t seem legit. Time is not something I’m good at so I will yield it to her!
“Wood”-paneled wagon for me, too! Bigger, though! With Mom after she had her wine. What I mainly remember is struggling to back up on the narrow driveway (there was very little room between the house on one side and a fence on the other), and you know how you have to get a feel for how hard to press the gas pedal? I guess I didn’t understand that yet, so I pressed hard and lurched back, then slammed on the brakes. For some reason I thought I had hit and killed a bird (didn’t happen) so I was done for the day, as was Mom! Nowhere to go but up from there- a year later I was my brothers driving instructor- OMG! Eighty in a parking lot! Kristen, I’d like to hear about your brother’s driving lessons, if he says you can tell, now that the statute of limitations is in effect!
Well, it’s not so much that he had issues while he was learning to drive; it’s that he had a series of wrecks after he got his license.
So, my parents were totally cheerful about me wanting to wait a while. Ha.
True story. My parents came to this country as adults. One of their neighbors was a Fireman and they became a very good friends. My Dad learned to drive on a firetruck on his friend’s day off. He took the widest turns you can ever imagine!
Fifteen, as soon as I could get my permit. I learned on my parents’ Previa, which is a big minivan no longer made. First time I got behind a wheel was in a big, empty school parking lot. My dad was my main driving instructor, which was unfortunate because he was a fighter pilot and a little, um, demanding.
An empty parking lot is where I’ve taken my kids too! So little to run into. Ha.
I remember this so well. I was about 15. We were driving home in the evening in our old Chevy from my grandparents’ house, about 2 miles. Daddy agreed for me to drive, but he insisted that Mother sit in the front with me. His nervous comment from the back seat, “Mother, don’t let her hit anything!”
I grew up on a farm, we were driving small tractors at 8, bigger tractors and trucks as soon as we could reach a pedal on the farm but not on the road.