FRENCHTOWN, N.J. — I was listening to the radio the other day and an old, familiar song came on by Alan Jackson.
In the song, he talks about learning to drive from his father when he was a child, and it got me wondering how other kids learned to drive. Did they take driving lessons — taught by an old, gray-haired man who always wore his tie too tight — when they were in high school? Was it their older sibling who taught them? Their mom? Their dad? Or did they just sneak behind the wheel of that old beat-up truck that sat in the driveway when mom and dad weren’t home?
I learned at a very young age. I remember feeling so cool when I told all my friends at school I learned to drive. Better yet, I even had my own car, a field car that is.
Would you have expected any less from a daughter of a race car driver?
I don’t how old I was when I first got behind the wheel, but I remember it like it was yesterday.
I remember my dad going into the backyard and tearing up the cornfield one day. Next thing you know, we had a race track in our backyard. A few weeks later, in came the field cars.
I can remember to this day how nervous I was when I saw him bring those cars home. What if I can’t do it? What if I’m no good? What if I disappoint him?
I remember pulling the driver’s seat forward, letting my dog jump in the back and dad getting in the passenger seat.
Hands at 10 and 2. Left foot on the brake. Right foot on the gas.
I put her in drive, the car started rolling and the directions followed. “Go up there, turn here, drive through the field and get on the track.”
Yes, I learned how to drive on a dirt track in my backyard. Doesn’t everyone learn that way?
Lap after lap I was getting more comfortable, picking up a little more speed, getting more confident. Dad was grinning, and the next thing you know, he says, “Enter the turns wide then go to the bottom … lift going into the turns and brake a little right here.”
We were having a blast. Who knows how long we were out there?
Then things changed and the car started to stall. I thought, “Alright, if dad’s not alarmed, I’m not alarmed.”
We just kept driving in circles. Then some smoke started to roll out from under the hood.
“Keep going,” he said. Next thing you know, I’m going high into turn three and smoke starts barreling into the car through the vents. I couldn’t see. Panic sets in. Dad said calmly, “Pull off and head back to the shop.”
I pulled the car up to the wash bay, and tried to get the dog out of the back seat when I saw him pop the hood, allowing massive flames to escape from underneath.
I was officially terrified, but dad calmly grabbed the hose and extinguished the fire.
Didn’t your first time learning how to drive go a little something like that? Needless to say, it took me a little while to get back behind the wheel. I was pretty shaken.
Fast-forward a few years to when I had to put what I learned to the test.
I can remember it so clearly. I did not understand for the life of me why the instructor told me I couldn’t drive using both of my feet. What do you mean I’m wrong? Do you know who taught me?
No, that’s not why I failed the first time, but I was scorned for it by the instructor. Little did my dad know that you weren’t supposed to drive with two feet. He’d done that in a dirt modified his whole life.
The second time, I passed my test and on the way home, we arrived at a traffic light and I needed to turn left. I turned my blinker on, I lifted off the gas a little and I made a wide turn.
“What are you doing?” dad asked.
“I was doing what you taught me, dad! When I go to turn, I let off the gas and take my turns wide,” I explained.
Just picture a 16-year-old with a 1980’s GMC truck at a traffic light making her own lane, minding her own business … doing what her daddy taught her.
I can’t help but smile when I look back at these moments with my father. Even though I took a few of his racing habits along with me onto the road, he taught me how to drive, he taught me how to stay calm in all circumstances. Isn’t that what every father dreams of? The day they get to teach their daughter how to drive.
My father took the time out of his racing schedule to give me that father-daughter bonding time. I know how much my father cherishes our time together and that’s a piece of my childhood I will never forget.