Yesterday after work, I drove my son to the local driving school to register him for driving lessons, at least for the initial theory lessons. Once those are completed, he has to take a bit of a detour (pun intended) to the Constance-Lethbridge Rehabilitation Centre due to his diagnosis of developmental coordination disorder.
As we pulled into the little strip mall where the driving school is located, I advised my son of my intention to park as far away as possible from the school’s store front so that nobody in there would observe my poor parking skills and judge him for it.
“Okay, mom.”, he said, without batting an eye.
As much as I like rules, regulations and structure to guide me through life’s highways, two yellow lines ain’t gonna cut it.
I was sixteen when I went for my first driving exam after having aced the theory exam (much to my driving instructor’s surprise, he who, from the vantage point of our shared bench seat, the knees of his 6’2” frame crushed against the dashboard, witnessed me turning the wrong way down a one-way street and nearly plowing into some boys from my year cutting through a field, all in the same lesson) and promptly failed when my car jumped the curb during the parallel parking portion of the exam.
“Madame, you lost control of your vee-hee-col. I cannot pass you.”
Through sheer luck (and a bit of practice), I aced my second attempt. To this day, I continue to jump curbs turning right at intersections, going through drive-thrus, and trying to get out of senior’s residences. However, since passing my driving test, I have never ever done so while parallel parking.
And that’s the truth. 😇