My first driving lesson is close to killing me and my father.
In senior high school and junior high school, I had a summer job with my father in the oil fields south of San Antonio. On a slow day, we piled into Dad’s company vehicle (a Dodge) for my first driving lesson.
race collision
I lost control of the clutch and we went on a collision course with a battery of oil storage tanks. When I panicked, my right leg stiffened; my foot stuck the throttle all the way to the floor.
It was over; there was not an iota of doubt in my mind about it.
goal daddy No panic. She quickly cut the ignition and turned the wheel just enough to avoid hitting the tanks. We waded safely onto the soft sandy shore of a watering hole.
I wasn’t upset; I WAS. I swore I would never, ever, ever be in the driver’s seat again. It was over… over!
“Jimmy, what is this car doing right now?” she asked patiently, certainly sensing my panic.
“Well, uh, well…nothing, Dad. The car isn’t doing anything right now.”
“That’s right. And it’s NOT going to do anything. Unless do something happens, this car will just sit here until it’s a bunch of rust.”
Learned lessons
We continue the lesson. I learned to drive that day, but I also learned two things that would follow me for life. I learned that Fred Sutton, although he was not a professional educator, was an excellent teacher. I also learned that knowledge, confidence in one’s abilities, and meaningful relationships (certainly including spiritual ones) are powerful antidotes to whatever the world can throw at any of us.
I have often thought about how easy it would be for a parent to yell or yell at their son or daughter caught in such a situation, especially when that parent is also afraid. Who could blame them; Most of us have been there.” It would be quite a natural response.
I think Dad intuitively knew that lecturing me about my driving mistakes would have served no real purpose. True to that thought, he never said another word to me about it. If he thought he’d learned that lesson well enough without the need for further reminders, he was right.
Over the years, I have tried to follow his example, but not perfectly, by any means. Put another way, this is what I think it means: It’s easy to be part of the problem, but it’s much better to be part of the solution.
Dad passed away in 1998 after a courageous fight against cancer. There have been many times since then when I wished I could jump back in that old Dodge for one more lesson from a great teacher.