thoughts of driving lessons

shared by Marlo R. Beall, her sister

My sisters and I all learned how to drive from our dad. Like most teenagers, we practiced driving on cars that were automatic, rather than stick shift. Both our mom and dad could drive stick, and for a while our family even had a black Mitsubishi pick-up truck that was stick.  

Some of us learned to drive the pick-up, although I was never very good at it. But Cyn, just like most things that she tried, was pretty good. Driving stick was more fun than stressful for her.

During the time that we all lived together, Andrew bought a car from one of our good friends; it was a Saturn sedan that just happened to be a stick shift. The only problem was neither Andrew nor I really knew how to drive it. So Cyn became our driving instructor.

I have fond memories of the three of us in the Saturn (which we had affectionately named "Venus"), practicing driving in the empty parking lot of the Culver City Costco. I recall Andrew and I switching off, trading seats between the driver and passenger side, while Cyn would give us directions from the back, her head poking out between the two front seats.

I remember one instance when Andrew and I were frustrated with each other's driving ability, and Cyn just started giggling. Andrew and I stopped talking, both looked at her curiously and asked what she was giggling about. She said something like, "You guys are so cute. You talk to each other to the point where you almost get mad at the other person, but then you don't get mad. It's neat."

Well, thanks to Cyn, Andrew drove Venus for several years. Cyn borrowed it a few times as well. I however, never did quite get the hang of it. But I know that it wasn't because I didn't have a good teacher.