Before even getting my driver's permit, I just knew that I would be an excellent driver. I mean, technically, I had been driving for years. Along with letting me hang out the car window with no seat belt my mother also, on occasion, let me drive. Now, she didn't just let me climb behind the wheel and take off, that would be irresponsible. Instead, while she was driving my mother would occasionally let me scoot over on the bench seat of our boat sized car and take over the steering wheel. I always stayed between the lines and felt I was a natural.
Fast forward to when I was fifteen and a half and finally old enough to get my permit. After weeks of slaving over the drivers manual I easily passed the exam. My mom decided that the school parking lot was the perfect place for my first trial run behind the wheel. I mean, what better place than a parking lot with kids around, lots of turns and curbs to hit with all my friends to watch and laugh. My mother was petrified I assume, by the look on her face, and I could see her leg pumping the invisible brakes in the passenger seat as I started to slowly creep forward. As it turns out, I was a natural after all. I managed to avoid hitting any of the kids or curbs and easily picked up how to control my speed. Soon mom was letting me drive to and from school every day for practice.
This daily practice though was still horrifying to my mother. I was a perfectly good driver who drove exactly the speed limit and always followed the rules of the road. Still, my mom was always yelling at me to slow down and pay attention. Once, in the video store parking lot I was pulling into a parking space when my mom yelled that I was going to hit something. I didn't see anything in the spot and proceeded to park the car. My mom insisted that I had run it over and that I must in turn be a horrible driver. I looked under the car to realize my tired had glided past a GI Joe figurine not any bigger than my thumb. Clearly those GI Joe's are dangerous tire popping death toys. Needless to say, the tire was fine and I continued to diligently practice my driving for the next six months in preparation for my driving exam.
The day finally came and I am pretty sure my mom assumed there was no way I would pass on my first try so she happily took me to the DMV for my test. Before I climbed behind the wheel she reminded me that this is just my first try and don't get too upset. I started off well even though my instructor had the coldest iciest stare I've ever seen. We were driving through the middle of a subdivision when she asked me to pull over on a hill. I knew to turn my wheels in toward the curb and passed that part of the exam with ease. Once she told me to go ahead and continue however was when it started to go down hill. I started to drive away without realizing my tires were still turned and immediately ran into the ditch. Why was I pulled over next to a ditch you ask? Because everyone else who has taken the driver's exam also forgets to turn their wheels back out and now a huge tire ditch has formed in some person's yard. I would be totally pissed if that was my yard every sixteen year old in the city was driving into. After I regained my composure I finished the test without much problem and when I pulled back into the DMV I was told that I had passed the exam! I ran over to my mom to share the news and I had never actually seen someones jaw hit the floor until that moment.
I continued to drive my mom's car until the summer before senior year when I finally obtained my very first car. For only $1500 I purchased a 1992 Geo Metro Hatchback with no air conditioning, no extras, and no power steering. It was the best car and I drove it accident free for two whole years before trading it in for some much needed air conditioning. I still think I am a decent driver, even though many would disagree. I have never caused an accident and only drive a little over the speed limit. Despite all my mother's fears, I think I really am a natural driver and anyone who disagrees can kiss my behind.
Thursday, September 30, 2010
Friday, September 17, 2010
Hello, and who are you again?
I started out my educational experience at Hanna Woods Elementary School. In first grade I had a wonderful teacher Mrs. S. I was a good student but was also painfully shy. I didn't raise my hand in class, I didn't chatter away to my friends behind the teacher's back, in fact I spoke as little as possible. Partially, I imagine, due to the fact that I had a fantastic speech impediment that prevented me from pronouncing my R's correctly. Talk about making the name Abrea even more confusing. I pronounced it Abwea and then didn't understand why no one could say my name correctly.
This is all beside the point. The story I am trying to tell is of the day Mrs. S decided that the shyest girl in class should be the one she sends on an errand. I had brought in cupcakes for the class because it was my birthday. I am still a little confused as to why we used to bring in our own birthday treats; shouldn't someone have treated me since it was my birthday? Again I am sidetracking, I brought in cupcakes that my mother had made out of a box the night before. Cupcakes which, by the way, I didn't like since I don't like cake. So, not only did I have to help make my own birthday treat, but it was a treat I didn't even like.
I got to class with my cupcakes and all the kids enjoyed scarfing down their overdose of sugar at 9:00 in the morning. There were a few cupcakes left over and Mrs. S didn't want to let them go to waste. That is when she decided to traumatize me for life. I am sure she thought it was an innocent request but to me I felt like I had been shot. Mrs. S instructed me to take one of the extra cupcakes and give it to the school's principal. I was mortified. Not only did I not know my way around the school or where the office was, I had no idea who the principal was. I mean, I was only six years old. Am I suppose to have directional awareness at that age? But did I tell Mrs. S that I had no idea where to take the cupcake? Of course not, I was shy and didn't want to say anything.
I wandered out of the classroom clutching the cupcake thinking what a wonderful birthday this was turning out to be. I started meandering down the hallways in the direction I hoped would land me in the office that I swear I had never seen before. I only knew how to get to my classroom. Whenever we went anywhere during school I just followed the kids in front of me not paying attention to which turns we were making. I eventually made it to a large open area which must have been the entrance hallway to the school. My chest was tight, I was having trouble breathing and I was debating just throwing the cupcake in a trash can, returning to class, and hoping Mrs. S never asked out principal how her cupcake was. My mind was racing trying to remember if I had ever met or seen the principal before. Was the principal a male or a female? I had no idea. And I couldn't ask anyone. I mean, asking a stupid question like that would obviously give me a heat attack.
Eventually after wandering in the lobby for a while a kind looking lady came out of what I assume now was the office and asked me where I was suppose to be going. Tears were filling my eyes because I was sure I was going to get in trouble. I managed to squeak out that I was suppose to take this now smooshed cupcake to the principal because it was my birthday. She smiled and giggled a little before telling me that she, in fact, was the principal. I was even more mortified. I had just walked up the the principal of the school and asked where the principal was. She was definitely going to kick me out of school now. But of course she didn't. She graciously accepted the disgusting looking flattened cupcake and helped me find my way back to the classroom. Mrs. S took no notice to the fact that I had just had a complete panic attack at her request and kept on teaching the class unaware of what she had caused me.
I, of course, now have a very irrational fear of always getting lost everywhere I go. When traveling to a new place I always insist on using Google maps so I can get exact directions and also use the street view so I can see exactly where I am going. Also, if possible, I Google the person I am meeting so I know what they look like. Call me crazy but Mrs. S, unbeknown to her, scarred me for life on my 6th birthday.
This is all beside the point. The story I am trying to tell is of the day Mrs. S decided that the shyest girl in class should be the one she sends on an errand. I had brought in cupcakes for the class because it was my birthday. I am still a little confused as to why we used to bring in our own birthday treats; shouldn't someone have treated me since it was my birthday? Again I am sidetracking, I brought in cupcakes that my mother had made out of a box the night before. Cupcakes which, by the way, I didn't like since I don't like cake. So, not only did I have to help make my own birthday treat, but it was a treat I didn't even like.
I got to class with my cupcakes and all the kids enjoyed scarfing down their overdose of sugar at 9:00 in the morning. There were a few cupcakes left over and Mrs. S didn't want to let them go to waste. That is when she decided to traumatize me for life. I am sure she thought it was an innocent request but to me I felt like I had been shot. Mrs. S instructed me to take one of the extra cupcakes and give it to the school's principal. I was mortified. Not only did I not know my way around the school or where the office was, I had no idea who the principal was. I mean, I was only six years old. Am I suppose to have directional awareness at that age? But did I tell Mrs. S that I had no idea where to take the cupcake? Of course not, I was shy and didn't want to say anything.
I wandered out of the classroom clutching the cupcake thinking what a wonderful birthday this was turning out to be. I started meandering down the hallways in the direction I hoped would land me in the office that I swear I had never seen before. I only knew how to get to my classroom. Whenever we went anywhere during school I just followed the kids in front of me not paying attention to which turns we were making. I eventually made it to a large open area which must have been the entrance hallway to the school. My chest was tight, I was having trouble breathing and I was debating just throwing the cupcake in a trash can, returning to class, and hoping Mrs. S never asked out principal how her cupcake was. My mind was racing trying to remember if I had ever met or seen the principal before. Was the principal a male or a female? I had no idea. And I couldn't ask anyone. I mean, asking a stupid question like that would obviously give me a heat attack.
Eventually after wandering in the lobby for a while a kind looking lady came out of what I assume now was the office and asked me where I was suppose to be going. Tears were filling my eyes because I was sure I was going to get in trouble. I managed to squeak out that I was suppose to take this now smooshed cupcake to the principal because it was my birthday. She smiled and giggled a little before telling me that she, in fact, was the principal. I was even more mortified. I had just walked up the the principal of the school and asked where the principal was. She was definitely going to kick me out of school now. But of course she didn't. She graciously accepted the disgusting looking flattened cupcake and helped me find my way back to the classroom. Mrs. S took no notice to the fact that I had just had a complete panic attack at her request and kept on teaching the class unaware of what she had caused me.
I, of course, now have a very irrational fear of always getting lost everywhere I go. When traveling to a new place I always insist on using Google maps so I can get exact directions and also use the street view so I can see exactly where I am going. Also, if possible, I Google the person I am meeting so I know what they look like. Call me crazy but Mrs. S, unbeknown to her, scarred me for life on my 6th birthday.
Friday, September 3, 2010
Back Yard Biker
Just as with swimming and gymnastics, I got started riding a bike long after most other kids in my class. I was perfectly content with my training wheels and saw no need to make changes. My mother thought otherwise. She eventually told me that I had to learn to ride my bike without the training wheels.
My mother decided that the back yard was the best place to teach me how to ride a bike. If I fell, it would only be on grass. The downside was that our back yard is a giant hill. I mean, a half acre hill, literally. The most flat spot in the yard was right by my swing set. Mom walked around with me for a while, holding the bike up while I tried to figure out what to do. Finally she said it was time for her to try letting go. I started to bike and she let go of me and I rode my bike beautifully...right into the swing set. I mean really, who sends their kid off on their own for the first time straight into a rusting metal death trap? Luckily I wasn't injured much and was able to get up and try again. I was waiting for mom to hold on to me but she said I had to figure it out and walked away. She proceeded to sit on the back porch and watch me ride my bike into the swing set a dozen more times before I finally started catching on. I was riding a bike, I was ready to go out and show the world.
Or not...after watching me almost kill myself practicing in the back yard my mom decided that the neighborhood was too dangerous for me to ride around. She didn't want me to get hit by a car. And, of course, since our front yard is also a hill, I couldn't ride there because I might lose control and accidentally ride into the street and get hit by a car. She decided that I was only allowed to ride my bike in the back yard instead of out front with the rest of the neighborhood kids. Welcome to the start of my life with no friends.
I loved riding my bike and the hill in the yard only made it more fun. I would ride to the very back/top of the yard close my eyes, raise my hands up to the sky and fly down the hill until I was too scared not to look. I had pretty good timing but every once in a while I would open my eyes too late and smash into the chain link fence at the bottom. I only have one scar to show from those rides. I had cut it too close one time and swerved to avoid the fence a little too late. My leg scraped along the fence and caught a jagged piece of metal scrapping all the way up my leg. And my mother thought the back yard was safe.
I turned the back yard into my own little imaginary town. The garden was the grocery store and the shed the hardware store. I would ride around on my imaginary streets pretending there were people in the "stores" to talk to. My mother never let me out of that back yard.
I have gone back now that I am an adult and ridden my grown up bike around on the street right in front of her house. Just because I can.
My mother decided that the back yard was the best place to teach me how to ride a bike. If I fell, it would only be on grass. The downside was that our back yard is a giant hill. I mean, a half acre hill, literally. The most flat spot in the yard was right by my swing set. Mom walked around with me for a while, holding the bike up while I tried to figure out what to do. Finally she said it was time for her to try letting go. I started to bike and she let go of me and I rode my bike beautifully...right into the swing set. I mean really, who sends their kid off on their own for the first time straight into a rusting metal death trap? Luckily I wasn't injured much and was able to get up and try again. I was waiting for mom to hold on to me but she said I had to figure it out and walked away. She proceeded to sit on the back porch and watch me ride my bike into the swing set a dozen more times before I finally started catching on. I was riding a bike, I was ready to go out and show the world.
Or not...after watching me almost kill myself practicing in the back yard my mom decided that the neighborhood was too dangerous for me to ride around. She didn't want me to get hit by a car. And, of course, since our front yard is also a hill, I couldn't ride there because I might lose control and accidentally ride into the street and get hit by a car. She decided that I was only allowed to ride my bike in the back yard instead of out front with the rest of the neighborhood kids. Welcome to the start of my life with no friends.
I loved riding my bike and the hill in the yard only made it more fun. I would ride to the very back/top of the yard close my eyes, raise my hands up to the sky and fly down the hill until I was too scared not to look. I had pretty good timing but every once in a while I would open my eyes too late and smash into the chain link fence at the bottom. I only have one scar to show from those rides. I had cut it too close one time and swerved to avoid the fence a little too late. My leg scraped along the fence and caught a jagged piece of metal scrapping all the way up my leg. And my mother thought the back yard was safe.
I turned the back yard into my own little imaginary town. The garden was the grocery store and the shed the hardware store. I would ride around on my imaginary streets pretending there were people in the "stores" to talk to. My mother never let me out of that back yard.
I have gone back now that I am an adult and ridden my grown up bike around on the street right in front of her house. Just because I can.
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