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There was a dream that used to visit me once every month or so.  The details changed sometimes, but it always involved my family at the brink of being late for something important like someone’s plane trip.  We’d look at each other and realize that the only way we’d make it on time is for me to drive us there.  I’d get into the driver’s seat only to realize that I don’t even know how to turn on the ignition.  Or if by some stroke of luck I am able to start the car, I look down and realize that I’m actually in the backseat and I’d have to slump over the driver’s seat to reach the steering wheel.  Always, just when I decide to give it a chance, I realize that I am ill-equipped for the task at hand

I know what it was.  My subconscious was mocking me.  For years, I bluffed my way through living away from my parents and being such an “adult”, but the truth was, I avoided taking on responsibilities every chance I got for fear that I’d crumple if I took on something that was beyond my meager capabilities.

Two years ago, my dad started to find it difficult to drive for more than half an hour at a time.  Arthritis had made an acquaintance with his knees and hands, and though he insisted that he was fine even on long trips, I knew it was time for me to step up.  I signed up for driving lessons immediately.  Two minutes into my first session, the instructor made me drive out of the parking lot and cross the highway.  Always a worrier, I kicked off my sandals to have a better feel of the pedals.  I thought, I can do this.  I do have some good driving genes in me.  My paternal grandfather was a bus driver.  Of course, my mom says that he was known to be the slowest bus driver in Naic, but I chose not to dwell on that...

I had my share of boo-boos during my driving lessons but luckily, I didn’t make any major life-altering mistakes.  It took me an inordinately long time to learn how to work the steering wheel so between sessions, I asked my dad to tutor me.  He wasn’t particularly enthused because years before, my younger sister decided to drive around the village with us in tow.  This was before my parents bought their new Ford Lynx, so she was stuck with our 1970 Maverick with the sometimes-working aircon and pawis steering.  She was going only about 15 kph on one turn when she lost control of the steering wheel and crashed into a skinny tree.  My dad had one of the village maintenance people replant the tree, and for a few weeks, we pass by the tree with guilt, seeing it turn brown little by little until it finally relinquished its hold on life and died.

I guess I can’t blame my dad for being so riled up that first session.  I never saw him sweat as much as that hour I spent in the car with him.  I was driving so slowly, but he’d shout “Kabig!” at every turn.  I think I heard his voice even in my sleep several days hence.

Next, I consigned my friend Pauline for more tutoring.  I saw the advantage of having a woman teaching me because she was way more verbal than my driving school instructor or my dad.  She explained a lot of the whys that I should’ve learned early on, though when I had a mini-crisis at an intersection, she panicked and screamed in terror, her hands shooting up to the ceiling as if to brace herself.  I had forgotten that this was the same friend who clung to my sleeve when an earthquake struck when we were juniors in high school.  At least I saw that when someone else panics in the car, I don’t get rattled and am able to concentrate on the task at hand even more.

A couple of months later, Pauline and I had to go to Tagaytay for a friend’s wedding.  I volunteered to drive there, and Pauline would do the driving going home.  We were supposed to go with our friend Marci, but she said that she just had braces put in and she was still in pain.  Marci had already experienced some of my driving, so I became suspicious that maybe she was just making excuses because she didn’t want to go to Tagaytay with me behind the wheel.  I told her that she shouldn’t dare show her face to me sans braces.  Thank goodness, the next time we met up, her mouth was full of metal and the friendship was saved.

So there I was, facing my first major driving expedition.  We had to stop for gas when Pauline received a call from a friend who was also driving to the wedding but wasn’t sure how to get to the venue.  I gave the gas station attendant the spiel I had practiced in my head.  “P300, regular unleaded.”  The attendant asked me to open the little door that covers the round thing where you shoot the gas nozzle in, and of course, I didn’t know how to do it.  There goes my facade of being an experienced driver.

Provincial driving, as I discovered, isn’t that bad.  Pauline was on the phone for a long stretch with our friend who got lost and needed directions, but I was able to continue to drive with no further incident.  For almost two hours, I was at it, feeling more comfortable as the kilometers crept up our odometer.  I thought my dad would be so proud...  So what if I still drove barefooted?  I was even able to park at the venue without a hitch!  But when it was time to put on my 3-inch high-heeled shoes, my ankles cramped up.  And when I stepped on the parking lot, I knew I was in for trouble.  I could hardly stand much less walk two steps without slipping on the gravel.  Pauline hurried away on her 2-inch heels, wanting to see if the ceremony had already started.  I screamed at her to help me walk across the parking lot, but she thought I was joking and didn’t come back for me.  Two security guards noticed my slow progress across the lot and shouted encouragements at me: "Kaya niyo yan, Ma''am!  Konti na lang ''yan, Ma''am!"  I was too embarrassed to tell them, “Tulungan niyo na lang kaya ako?” so I continued trying to walk on my own.  There’s always something.

Because I live about 1 ½ hours away from my parents, I couldn’t go home that often to practice.  It took me six months to learn how to drive an automatic, and another nine hours lining up at the local LTO office to get my license.

I volunteered to drive my parents to the nearest mall the very next day.  For the first time, my dad let me back out of our narrow driveway.  I promptly forgot to release the hand break and drove a good 100 meters before I noticed it.  At one point, I also accidentally pulled at the lever which activated the windshield wiper, and I had to ask my dad to turn them off because I didn’t know how.  I guess I’d be driving with my dad in the passenger’s seat as my lookout for a long time coming.

I still sing to myself to keep calm when I have to drive all by myself, even if it is just to Pauline’s house in the next subdivision.  Thanks to my weird schedule, I still don’t get to practice regularly.  So far, I have about a dozen trips to Cavite under my belt but have yet to cross the metro to Makati for some city driving.  My dad insists he’s comfortable driving again now that he’s on glucosamine, but I still want to challenge myself to perfect this new skill.  One day I know I can do it all – park by myself, drive with shoes no less!  Then I can say that I’ve done it.  I’ve learned to drive.

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