Driver Education

Here is the first little story of my boyhood recollections in Lanigan Sask.

Chapter 1
" I heard that there are several boys your age living very near by. Would you like to meet them?" my mother asked one day over lunch.
I thought I had seen one just that morning. He was in the street riding a tricycle and looked friendly enough. My Mother was eager to get me out from underfoot and the best way to do that was to get me going with a friend or two. My older sister and I did not get along well and besides, playing with girls was something I refused to do.
I sauntered out the back screen door into the side yard where the big old green Plymouth was parked. It was not used much these days, except when my Dad would deliver a load of groceries to someone who did not have their own transportation. This was usually done in the evenings, after work, and I would often get to ride along. It was a hot day and as I walked past the car, I noticed that the windows had been left open. The doors were very big and heavy and I had great difficulty opening them, but with the windows open, it was an easy task getting in. I had never been specifically told that the car was off limits, but still a little pang of guilt hit me as I climbed in the driver's window. It was my great dream to one day be at the controls of a car and actually drive it. Until that day, which always seemed so far off, I would be content to pretend. I was unable to see through the windshield, but that did not prevent me from cranking the wheel one way and then the other, racing down the highway, swerving around the corners, and raising billowing clouds of dust behind me as I flew through the countryside. The foot pedals had always been a mystery to me, I could never quite see what Dad was doing when I would detect a flex of his knee but I knew it had something to do with braking and also with moving the lever on the steering column, something called changing the gears.
So, to be true to my fantasy, I too had to change gears. I strained body and legs to reach the pedals and, almost sliding off the seat, managed to press both pedals to the floor simultaneously. With a mighty push of my right arm, the gear shift lever slid upwards and clicked into a new position. That wasn't so hard, I thought. But wait. I had a sensation of movement. I couldn't really be driving because the engine was not running. The keys were not even in the ignition and I knew that was a prerequisite. But I was definitely moving, very slowly, but creeping backwards down the slight decline to the street. My first concern was the trouble I was going to be in when Mom saw that the car was not parked where she had left it. But a much larger concern soon overcame me and fear coursed through my body as visions of death and a totally demolished car filled my imagination. For there, just up the street, came the town grader, straight for our place, blade down, engine growling and it seemed to me to be an unstoppable beast, bearing down on all in it's path. I gauged by my direction and speed and the speed of the grader, that it would only be a matter of a minute or less and my world would come crashing in. I struggled with the door, but must have pushed down the lock knob in my efforts to climb in the window. But my greater concern was for the car. I had no idea how to stop it. And if I did not stop it, my Dad's car would be no more. He could not deliver the groceries, his business would fail, and we would become poor and destitute, starving to death in our ratty old house. I resorted to the old tried and true thing to do when panic sets in. I screamed at the top of my lungs.
Whether anyone heard me or not was irrelevant, for two things happened. They were both miracles in my estimation. The back end of the car was just beginning to protrude onto the street, when suddenly it came to an abrupt halt. The street was slightly raised and halted the momentum of the car. At almost the exact same time, the grader stopped, the hard packed dirt ceasing its curl off the end of the polished steel blade. The engine wound down and actually stopped. I was frozen in terror and could not let go of the steering wheel. I don't know who came to the window first, the grader operator or my Mom, but there they were, both staring down at me.
"Son, you had better get this car off the road so I can finish my job," he said, as if it was totally in my control to do so.
"Move over, Terry," my Mom gently said. "I'll drive it back up the driveway."
I do not recall her saying much beyond that, but it came to my attention that when we left the car, the windows were shut tightly and the doors locked securely. In my mother's wisdom, she must have realized that I needed no chiding, as I had just had a terrifying experience that would have taught me much more than any words she could have said. I am sure she and Dad had a good chuckle over it as they discussed the day’s activities later that evening.
The next day when I did meet the neighbour boy for the first time, we were kicking dirt and wondering what to do.
“How about we go for a drive in your car?" he suggested.
We all discovered how quickly news spreads in a small prairie town.