This story is true. The names have been changed to protect the innocent, the guilty and the woefully inexperienced. That’s because I’m related to all the players and, in fact, am a character in the story myself.
Please don’t judge.
As you may know, since you were probably a teenager yourself at some point, there comes a time, after your last Big Wheel, after driver’s ed and before your brain matures, when you want to drive. You burn with the desire to hit the road.
In our family, it has been a tradition to help the younger generation get their first cars. Our son got our old Oldsmobile when he was 17, which he drove without incident — except for the very first day, when he got out at a railroad crossing to check a tire and forgot to put the car in park. He got lucky.
Next, we gave our daughter our aging powder-blue Chevy Nova, but she refused to drive the “Mom car” anywhere she might be seen. The shame of it was too much.
They grew up. They got smart. They had kids of their own.
Some weeks ago, as one of the grandkids approached their time to hit the road, a related party, not to be named, gifted said child with a fancy-shmancy automobile so that they “would be safe” on the road, you know, surrounded by tons of metal. First day out, the kid stopped at a light and another driver slammed into them, totaling the car, but thankfully causing no injuries. It was a traumatic launch to a driving career.
Said teen now had no car, and needed to get to school and sports and such. So we stepped up and gave the kid our 15-year-old Honda sedan — not very cool, not fancy, but a helpful gift for which the teen was grateful.
We drove our two cars to our son’s home, turned the Honda over to the grandchild and watched as they drove off for the inaugural ride. A half hour later they called to say the car was stuck, making groaning noises and lights were blinking. My husband drove out to find where the kid was stuck, realized the problem, and explained: Cars of a certain vintage had hand brakes that had to be released. Brake was released. Car moved. Problem solved.
That night, second time out with the Honda, the grandkid, who was sleeping at a friend’s house, called home at 2 a.m. and told their dad the teens at the sleepover had decided to go out for pizza at midnight. Again, the car was dead. Had the teen left the lights on? We’ll never know.
But teen and friends, ever resourceful, looked up what to do on Instagram, and read that you can push a car down the road and it will start. Somehow, in the magical world of automotive miracles, the engine will just engage.
But that wasn’t what happened. Because it can’t happen with an automatic transmission. They pushed the car down the road and it didn’t start, but it did take off like a rocket and crashing into another car that belonged to one of the other kids’ parents.
Major damage.
Full confessions and remorse all around. We realized we had some responsibility for not giving the grandkid a lesson in how to drive an old car with no automatic anything. Contrition abounded, and financial arrangements were made for kids to pay for damages from their jobs. For the next decade. Remarkably, none of the adults stroked out.
Next day, still visiting our son, I had no car to drive to the market, so he gave me the key to his new fancy-shmancy automobile. I opened the door and slid behind the wheel, and that’s where my outing ended. The seat and mirrors started adjusting themselves, and I had no idea where to stick the key, how to turn on the car, or what the humming noise was telling me. I couldn’t even find the A.C. This car was so space-age that, for me, it was functionally undrivable.
Is there something to learn from this? Not much, I guess, except that no one, young or old, should get behind the wheel of an automobile unless they know how to start, stop, turn on the lights, and put it in park. Also, if the car is older than 10, mind the handbrake. And never, ever get your emergency driving tips from Instagram.
Copyright 2024 Randi Kreiss. Randi can be reached at randik3@aol.com.